浮生三輓 - 卡蜜兒的秘密手稿

8:55pm, Wed 10 May 2006

每天下班，拖著疲乏的身軀由歐田磨( Ultimo)的廣告設計公司回到葉坪( Epping )火車站...

總會路過附近一家大型超級市場，每逢出糧的週四晚
Night shopping，還可約同妹妹和由醫院下班的母親一同入去逛逛，買齊一週的食糧才一起回家。
由於多次碰到同座的邦納德伯伯(Uncle Bonnard )，彼此同路，不久便熟絡起來。獨身的他總愛滔滔不絕地提起許\多往事：
原來移居此地前他在巴黎市郊擁有一家小書店，八○年代末不幸家遭巨變，於是結束多年的營生，為求解脫，信了佛教，孑然一身老遠移民雪梨隱居，一愰眼便是二十多年，今年快七十五歲了。
有一晚，他神秘兮兮地向我透露一個天大秘密：
他原來是卡蜜兒克勞代爾( Camille Claudel )的遠房表親，手上收藏了她晚年躭在瘋人院時的一大批手稿。這位法國一代彫塑大師羅丹的小情婦赫然是一位童話高手，創作了一系列精緻的微型小說、童話、寓言，還改編了許\多篇拉芳丹( La Fontaine)的兒童故事！
「聽你提過在法國文化協會唸了不少法文，過两天我替你送上卡蜜兒的手稿，讓你開開眼界！」我無可無不可地敷衍著答應了。
老實說，我的法文只有半桶水似通非通，唸法文只是鬧著玩兒罷了，而且受不了男友連逼帶哄，但是文學作品………Oh La La, Mon Dieu!
Camille 的故事我只看過法國天皇巨星Gerard Depardieu及 Isabelle Adjani主演的那套電影，這才知道大師羅丹有一位才華橫溢的彫塑家情婦，後來二人決裂，她活到一九四三年才在瘋人院中去世。反而她弟弟保羅克勞代爾的詩篇，我唸法文時的導師曾略略介紹過。
自此之後，他隔一两天便上我家，唸唸那批發黃的手稿，喝杯咖啡之類，十分高興的樣子。
一次碰見他的房東，一位奧地利裔的老太太，目送伯伯離開後，緊張兮兮地把我扯過一邊，瞪大老花鏡後一對藍色眼珠子：
小心這頭老色狼！親愛的，已有好幾位少女上過他的當！常常借故親近可愛的年青姑娘。我一直留神他的一舉一動，甚麼詩歌、文學手稿，全是編出來騙人的！哼！小心法國佬，他們以為自已全都是大情聖華倫天奴！
不過我却完全不覺他有任何不紳士的舉動，最多只是拍拍肩膀，親親手背而己？而且他也見過我的男友Jean-Louis。
他的身子其实不大好，可能喝酒過量吧。有時見他獨個兒哼著Verdi的「茶花女」曲調，蹣跚\地踱步回家。
上星期一晚，我和尚路易絆了嘴，不堪煩擾，淚\痕未乾，把那些擱在書桌一角的「手稿」一股腦兒退還給他，使他驚疑不安。
不料，翌日晚上，他的家中竟然失火，幸好只燒焦了大廳中的沙發一角，房東氣得要把他攆走，原來他竟然在家中點火燒燬一些「文件」。
文件？我忽然想起…………不會是那批「國寶」吧？
夜深了，我和妹妹在城中欣賞完歌舞劇小安妮回到家中，聽見他的留言錄音，央我過去替他辦一件事，語氣有點焦急，只好立即覆電話過去，無人接聽。
心頭忽然湧起一股不祥的預感，連忙披衣，三步兼作两步跑過去按鈴，果然無人應聲，心知不妙，立刻通知二樓的女房東一起破門而入，四壁門窗緊閉，邦納德伯伯僵卧床上，不省人事，面上一片灰黑，文稿散滿一地，在火盆中的好幾頁已成灰燼，手中揑著一張未完的便條：
對不起，Yvonne，瞞了你這些日子，我的肝臟恐怕不讓我躭在塵世太久了，本來指望你能替我把這批文稿譯成英文，就只一两篇也好。因為它們其實全是我自己寫的。原諒我……這老糊塗，不敢說出真相，我不該扯謊。
我呆立當場，可憐的邦納德伯伯………。

(3/3完)

(二ＯＯ六年四月十四日復活節再稿)

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The secret manuscripts of Camille

Everyday after work, I travel from Ultimo to Epping station via cityrail with a weary body. I always walk pass a big supermarket, sometimes on Thursday night shopping, I can join my younger sister and Mum who just returns from her Westmead hospital nursing job. We buy a whole week amount of food and then get home.
There we often meet Uncle Bonnard from the same building where we live, he tells a lot of himself and many stories about Paris.
Before he arrived here 20 years ago, he owned a small bookshop in the fringe of the French capital. The disaster in early 80’s brought him here and settled in Sydney. He even became a Buddhist to get consolation. Now he is almost 75.
One evening, he suddenly revealed to me a big secret:
He is actually a remote relative of Camille Claudel, in possession of a huge collection of her manuscripts written when she was in the insanity home. The little mistress of Auguste Rodin is actually a prolific children literature writer, she wrote a series of mini fables, legends, and even rewrote many stories by La Fontaine!
You have studied French in Alliance Francais, haven’t you? I’ll show you her works the other day! He said.
To be frank, my French is pretty limited, just learning for fun. And my French boyfriend really loves me to understand more……but literature, oh la la. Mon Dieu!
I once saw the movie played by Gerard Depardieu and Isabelle Adjani about the story of Camille, they separated finally. She stayed in the insanity home until 1943. My French teacher mentioned briefly about the poem written by her younger brother: Paul.
After this, Mr. Bonnard visited me every few days, read a bit of the stories, had a cup of coffee, looking very happy.
I once came across his land lady, a Madame from Austria, who warned me after seeing him away:
Beware of this womanizer! My dear, I saw several little girls being deceived already.
I lay an eye on him all the time, all the manuscript, writing are rubbish, liar! Beware of these French men! They all regard themselves as Casanova!
But I never detect any indecent behaviour from him, just patting on shoulders, kissing my hands, that’s all. He met my boyfriend Jean Louis once.
His health deteriorated because of heavy drinking. I sometimes saw him humming a tune from Verdi’s La Traviatta on the way home with unstable paces.
Last Monday night, I quarrelled with Jean Louis. I lost my temper and returned all the manuscripts to Mr. Bonnard.
I’ll never touch anything French again!
He had been startled I know.
Unexpectedly, his home caught fire the next evening. Fortunately just a corner of his launch room sofa had been burnt. The landlady was outraged of course, he tried to destroy some with fire!
Documents? I suddenly sniffed of something wrong: Not the National Treasure…I hope?
Nearly midnight, I returned home with my sister after enjoying in the Capitol Theatre. He left a message in the record machine, asking me a flavour with an anxious tone.
I dialled the number, nobody answered.
This is no good! I immediately went to his door and pressed the bell, no response!
I dashed to the landlady losing no time and opened the door together.
All windows were tightly closed, lying on his bed, uncle Bonnard lost consciousness with a black face. Papers scattered on the floor, a few pages burnt into ashes in a charcoal basin….
There was a written note in his stiff hand:
Sorry, Yvonne, my liver won’t allow me to live too long.
I initially want you to translate these works into English, even just a few pages.
They are actually written by myself.
Forgive me, I should not lie to you.
Horrified, I was frozen there.
Poor Uncle Bonnard!

大俗山翁

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浮生三輓 - 卡蜜兒的秘密手稿