作者：司空先让

责任编辑：罗志飞 翻译：吴可正

我出生的年月（1957年），恰逢以打断知识分子精神脊梁为目的的反右运动如汹涌潮水般掀起，紧接着几年便是“三分天灾，七分人祸”的艰难岁月的开始，饥饿如影随形，笼罩着每一个家庭。我是家中最小的一个孩子，上面有一个正处于长身体关键期的哥哥和一个姐姐。父母每日辛勤劳作，然而全家依旧处于半饥半饱的困顿之中。无奈之下，在我三岁的时候，父母将我送到了桐庐芦茨湾的外婆家寄养。其实外婆家的粮食也是不够吃的，时常要吃麸糠野菜糊糊。好在芦茨湾山野溪沟里有时也能捉到一些鱼虾和小动物补充一下动物蛋白质。

芦茨湾，那是一个被青山绿水环绕的宁静小村落，村里的村民大多姓方。据族谱记载，唐代处士方干（‌方干，836年-888年，字雄飞，号玄英，唐代著名诗人）曾在芦茨湾隐居。外婆和舅舅住在一起，那时的舅舅大约十九岁光景，年轻且充满朝气。由于他是方家这一代唯一的男孩，属于单传，从小便多受点宠爱，得以读书识字。在那个教育资源匮乏的年代，舅舅凭借着自己的努力和家族的资助，成为了乡里少有的读书人。他平日里喜欢舞文弄墨，对诗词文章有着浓厚的兴趣，总能在闲暇时光沉浸在书的世界里，书写下自己对生活的感悟。

我来到外婆家后，便常常喜欢跟着舅舅。舅舅会带着我穿梭在芦茨湾的山间小道，采一些野果子和芦苇的嫩芽根给我吃，有时还会讲鬼故事给我听，吓得我有时晚上会做噩梦惊叫……这时我外婆会拿一只小酒盅放满米，再放一枚银戒指在米里然后包上一块手帕，在我胸前一边上下左右舞动，一边嘴上念念有词似乎在驱赶邪魅。一套流程下来，然后打开手帕，发现之前一整酒盅的米凹下去了一小半，这时外婆的整个脸都舒展开了，兴奋地说，菩萨显灵了！菩萨显灵了！小鬼被赶走了……等懂事后的我每每想起外婆的“法术”有点好笑，但我知道外婆对我的爱是深切无比的。

就这样，我在外婆的芦茨湾快乐的生活了3年。

我6岁那年被父母亲接回到了杭州。在我读初三的时候我从父亲那里得知舅舅死了（母亲有意不让我们知道这事，因为在那个年代家族里出了一个”反革命“是非常非常忌讳的事）。

若干年后，我大致了解到了我舅舅在文革中被打成“反革命”和惨死的大致经过——

那场史无前例“文革运动”如狂风暴雨般席卷而来，将人们卷入了无尽的漩涡之中。舅舅，这个平日里只知埋头读书，在乡办小学里做做代课老师什么的，不知在“文革”中何时何地触犯了“文革运动”的大忌，或许是他在与友人交谈时，不经意间流露出了对某些政策的不满；又或许是他写的某篇文章中，一些观点被误解为是对“文革”的攻击。总之，在那个荒唐的年代，舅舅一夜间成了批斗对象，他们给舅舅扣上了一顶沉重的帽子——“现行反革命分子”。

那一刻，外婆惊呆了，如同天塌下来了，她无法相信眼前发生的一切。

舅舅被带走后，外婆家陷入了无尽的黑暗之中…………

舅舅被关押在县监狱接受所谓的“审查”和“改造”。在那段日子里，他不时遭到殴打、羞辱等惨无人道的非人折磨……最后，我舅舅实在受不了这种屈辱和痛苦，决心以一死来抗争！那天在监狱放风时舅舅不知从什么角落里搞到了一条尺巴长的铁条，突然大叫着冲出监狱牢门前的警戒线作出了要行凶越狱的样子（其实是只求一死）结果随着几声枪响，我的舅舅方志刚倒在了血泊中……

在这片罪孽深重的土地上空又多了一个飘荡的冤魂！

当得知舅舅惨死后，外婆每天以泪洗面不久也因悲伤过度随舅舅而去了……

得知舅舅是这样的惨死的，如同一场沉重的噩梦，永远地刻在了我的心中。舅舅原本可以在乡野平淡无奇的过完一生，却因为那个荒唐暴政的年代，一条年轻的生命就这样被无情残忍地剥夺了。

如今，舅舅的离世已过去半个多世纪了，但每当我回到芦茨湾，看到那熟悉的山水，听到那亲切的乡音，我的脑海中就会浮现出舅舅的身影。

2001年初，我被当局以“煽颠罪”而坐牢，冥冥之中似乎与我舅舅有着某种命运的交织。

选自《我所经历的人和事碎片（一）》

司空先让 杭州

2025年9月11日

My Uncle — Fang Zhigang

Author: Sikong Xianrang

Responsible Editor: Luo Zhifei Translator: Wu Kezheng

The year I was born (1957) coincided with the Anti-Rightist Campaign, a movement aimed at breaking the spiritual backbone of intellectuals, which surged like a tidal wave. Shortly afterward came the beginning of the difficult years of “30% natural disaster, 70% man-made calamity.” Hunger followed like a shadow, casting its gloom over every family. I was the youngest child in my family, with an older brother in a crucial stage of physical growth and an older sister above me. My parents worked hard every day, yet the entire family remained trapped in a state of semi-starvation. Helpless, when I was three years old, my parents sent me to my grandmother’s home in Luci Bay, Tonglu, to be fostered. In truth, my grandmother’s household also did not have enough food, often subsisting on gruel made of bran and wild vegetables. Fortunately, in the mountains and streams around Luci Bay, one could sometimes catch fish, shrimp, or small animals to supplement animal protein.

Luci Bay was a quiet village surrounded by green mountains and clear waters, where most of the villagers bore the surname Fang. According to family genealogy, Fang Gan (836–888), a recluse scholar of the Tang Dynasty and a renowned poet, once lived in seclusion at Luci Bay. My grandmother lived with my uncle, who was about nineteen at the time, young and full of vigor. As the only male of his generation in the Fang family—the sole heir—he was given extra care and allowed to study and become literate. In that era of scarce educational resources, my uncle, through his own effort and family support, became one of the few scholars in the village. He enjoyed practicing writing, was deeply interested in poetry and prose, and would often immerse himself in books during his free time, recording his reflections on life.

After I came to my grandmother’s home, I often liked to follow my uncle. He would take me along the mountain paths of Luci Bay, picking wild fruits and tender reed shoots for me to eat. Sometimes he would tell me ghost stories, which frightened me so much that I occasionally woke up screaming from nightmares at night…At such times, my grandmother would fill a small wine cup with rice, place a silver ring inside, then wrap it with a handkerchief. She would move it back and forth, up and down across my chest while muttering incantations, as if to drive away evil spirits. After completing the ritual, she would open the handkerchief and find that nearly half of the rice had sunk down. At that moment her face would brighten, and she would exclaim excitedly, “The Bodhisattva has shown his power! The little ghost has been driven away!” When I grew older, I always found my grandmother’s “magic” a little amusing, but I knew that her love for me was immeasurable.

In this way, I happily lived at my grandmother’s home in Luci Bay for three years.

When I was six, my parents brought me back to Hangzhou. While I was in the third year of middle school, I learned from my father that my uncle had died (my mother deliberately concealed this from us, because in those times, having a “counterrevolutionary” in the family was considered extremely disgraceful).

Many years later, I came to roughly understand how my uncle had been branded a “counterrevolutionary” during the Cultural Revolution and met his tragic death—That unprecedented “Cultural Revolution” swept through like a violent storm, dragging people into an endless whirlpool. My uncle, who usually only buried himself in reading and worked as a substitute teacher in the village school, somehow became guilty of violating the taboos of the movement. Perhaps in conversation with friends he carelessly revealed dissatisfaction with certain policies, or perhaps in one of his writings, some ideas were misinterpreted as attacks on the Cultural Revolution. In any case, in that absurd era, my uncle overnight became a target of struggle sessions, branded with the heavy label of a “current counterrevolutionary.” At that moment, my grandmother was stunned—it was as if the sky had collapsed. She could not believe what was happening before her eyes.

After my uncle was taken away, my grandmother’s household fell into endless darkness…

My uncle was imprisoned in the county jail to undergo so-called “investigation” and “reform.” During that time, he was subjected to repeated beatings, humiliation, and other inhuman tortures…In the end, my uncle could no longer endure such humiliation and suffering, and resolved to resist with his life!

One day during exercise time in prison, my uncle somehow obtained a foot-long iron bar. Suddenly, shouting loudly, he dashed across the guard line in front of the prison gate, pretending as if he were attempting violence and escape (in fact, only seeking death). A few gunshots rang out, and my uncle, Fang Zhigang, fell into a pool of blood…

Over this land, heavy with sin, another wronged soul began to wander!

Upon learning of my uncle’s tragic death, my grandmother wept day after day, and soon, overcome with grief, followed him into death…

Knowing that my uncle died in such a manner was like a heavy nightmare, etched forever in my heart.

My uncle could have lived out an ordinary life in the countryside, yet because of that absurd era of tyrannical rule, a young life was mercilessly stripped away.

Now, more than half a century has passed since my uncle’s death, but whenever I return to Luci Bay, see those familiar mountains and waters, and hear that familiar local accent, my uncle’s image always resurfaces in my mind.

In early 2001, I myself was imprisoned by the authorities for the crime of “inciting subversion.” In the unseen workings of fate, it seemed my destiny was somehow intertwined with my uncle’s.

Excerpted from Fragments of People and Events I Experienced (Part One)

Hangzhou — Sikong Xianrang

September 11, 2025