是男人，就要站得筆直

通過工作認識的傑克。傑克一生為了讓美國了解中國文化，人民和國家而努力。他話語不多，也許因為他知道得太多。卻總讓人感覺一個巨大的磁場力。

傑克老了。不知從何時開始我們每年給傑克和夫人郵一張聖誕卡。今年的卡片寄出去后沒有收到回卡，就感覺到傑克不行了，寫不動了。果不其然，一九九九年二月四日的雅虎頭版新聞有一條，John Stewart Service 因心臟病逝世於他在加州奧克蘭的老年公寓，一個與近代美中關係息息相關的人生啊。

剛剛一年前，傑克用打字機列印然後用複印機複印了一張仆告，結婚五十多年的愛妻卡羅琳（Caroline）在聖誕之前過世了。看了覺得心裡難受，和卡羅琳見過幾面，老太太人很和善。儘管知道傑克是不折不扣的真漢子，這畢竟是人生艱難的時刻，就邀請他來伯克利的吃周末早午餐(Sunday Brunch)。這家中餐館營售比較傳統的中國食品，比如油條豆漿，紅油抄手，小籠包，蔥油餅等等。這些食品最起碼看上去很地道。上個世紀初傑克出生於四川成都一個西方傳教士家庭。能吃到兒時喜歡的食品也是人生樂事。時間不饒人哩，傑克的健康狀態越來越差，兩眼幾乎失明了，體重明顯下降，看上去像一隻戴著墨鏡的大鳥。

他不喜歡麻煩別人開車接送；可是實在沒有辦法了。去年最後一次看到傑克，他的頭腦依然清晰，知識淵博。每次都會把所有家人都問到，噓寒問暖。

那天在餐館看到了鄰桌的陳省身教授和家人，傑克，一個88歲患有癌症的人，起身走過去向陳教授夫婦問好，話語平靜而清晰。陳教授和傑克同時在加州大學伯克利分校供過職，老相識了。幾個人笑呵呵的，比賽著講述自己身體有幾個器官失去功能了，好像得了勳章一樣。聽得人從幽默里感受一種傷痛和無奈。

儘管年齡相差50多歲，傑克從來沒有拒絕過我的邀請，他向來待人熱情大方，親近的人都很讚賞傑克的為人。從不把自己當作名人，儘管他的一生比這個自吹自擂華而不實文化瘋養的那些名人要高大深刻何止千倍萬倍。傑克和我有緣分也因為我不是追星族，我把傑克當平常人看待。平常心，澄明眼裡才能看到這個人的高大。他自己平等待人，尊重他人，熱情付出，他眼裡只有朋友和孩子。傑克身上令人最珍惜是時那種跨越了時間和文化的平等感。你不裝腔作勢，他馬上視你為朋友。

五年前，也是同一個餐館，邀請傑克和卡羅琳吃周日早中餐合吃，慶祝他們結婚五十周年。兩人講述了當年傑克駐紮昆明，因為卡羅琳的入境手續不齊，傑克乘火車去越南的海防市和卡羅琳結婚。傑克的外交官身份使他可以自由出入中國。而海防市是境外最近的城市了。那是個世事紛繁的時代，但是故事從他們兩口子嘴裡說出卻不顯任何動亂情緒。五十年後依然平靜，笑聲朗朗。

傑克喜歡四川榨菜肉絲麵，就給他叫了一碗。面來了，他就開始給每個人碗里撥，好像全世界的人都在饞他兒時喜愛的湯麵。大家都笑拒了，看著他一個人吃一大碗面，吃得那個面色紅潤，還一個勁地呼哧著，喝完最後一點兒剩湯。本來是個乾淨人，可是吃起喜歡的湯麵來，卻能濺起許多浪花。我犯了個錯誤，試圖幫他擦桌子上的湯跡。他哼哼唧唧，很不情願，說我影響他的興緻。卡羅琳呵斥他，對孩子說話要客氣一些。然後，人人嬉笑顏開，北加州的周日，陽光明媚。

認識傑克的人常常講起他一旦踏上中國的國土就立刻變成另一個人樣，那個他30年代，40年代，70年代和80年代去過很多次的國家。「好像他能從腳下的土地獲取能量。」北京街頭的人們像見到熟人一樣和他打招呼，「謝偉思，您好!」中國是他的故土，太熟悉了，他能帶著當地人遊覽北京，給人們講述秀水街何處有當年義和團運動是留下的槍眼。人就是活歷史書，但就是從來不吹噓自己知道多少。

剛認識不久，我請求傑克幫我看看我正在寫的童年時代回憶錄。傑克曾經是加州大學出版社的優秀編輯呢。少不更事，拿自己不入眼的文字麻煩傑克，但是傑克毫不在意，仔細閱讀了語言幼稚的故事，然後請我吃午飯。那次午飯在退休老人中心可算是精心設計。跟在傑克和卡羅琳身後盛自助餐，聽到餐廳另一端有老人高聲問候，「傑克，卡羅琳，帶著小年輕人來吃飯哪？」這裡有人來訪，特別是年青人來訪是件大事。傑克偷偷地笑著，看也不看那些妒忌的人群。哦，我的故事，「淚水太多。」沒詞了，這也太像傑克說的話了。

在傑克的追悼會上，傑克的兒子們（也都50-60歲了）講述了「作為男人」是父親許多年來教育他們的主題。很顯然一個男人不能淚水太多，不管處境多麼艱難。

「淚水太多。」這句話我不會忘記，特別是出自一個一生忍受了太多的人之口。這是一句值得代代相傳的話，特別當我們和我們的兒女覺得不堪重負之時，光榮和屈辱一般的沉重哦。

傑克的普通話和四川話說得都很地道流利，能夠和川地的山民繞口令呢。計程車司機如果試圖在城裡彎彎繞來宰外國遊客，那洋相就出大了。傑克可以告訴計程車司機在北京，重慶，成都如何走衚衕，抄近道，讓司機臉紅。

傑克博學，因為他每天都在學，對知識如饑似渴。有一天他給我看一份中文報紙，問我墨爾本這三個字是什麼意思，啊，澳大利亞的城市名稱。中國大陸這些年的翻譯系統讓老人犯糊塗了。傑克最煩的是廣東籍華人在他面前顯擺普通話。那天傑克是專門帶來翻譯，可是那些自認為中文地道的人楞是不讓他插話。傑克生氣了就要戲弄人的，當場就用非常標準的普通話大聲說，「天不怕，地不怕，就怕廣東佬說官話」。八十歲了，用了玩笑的口氣，老頑童的角色也扮演得惟妙惟肖。我都笑岔氣了，這也太好玩了。

有人會說傑克說話尖刻。或者說，有些人認為傑克應該一臉苦相，因為他畢竟是美國歷史上臭名昭著的麥卡錫主義(McCarthyism)首當其衝的受害者，當年工作權利被剝奪，舉國羞辱，鋃鐺入獄。而我看到的傑克沒有任何痛苦和受害者的可憐相。老人對淺薄和裝蒜不留情面，畢竟是經受了東西方大智慧洗禮的人，悉心學習了，努力修為了，保持了一雙洞悉真實和事實的慧眼。他就是這樣做工作彙報，也是這樣過的日子。六十多年前，他的確讚揚過毛澤東，朱德，周恩來，還有其他延安人，儘管那時西方一致痛恨共產黨。傑克向美國國務院的推薦承認紅色政權是因為他目睹了蔣介石和他的同僚高度腐化，而毛和紅軍十分清廉志在拯救中國。傑克是對的，儘管他自己的個人意識形態和共產黨差別巨大。傑克錯了，因為替共黨說話被羈押入獄。傑克憑良心說話，他的良心是閃亮的，能夠穿透氣量狹窄的卑劣黨派論者。幾十年之後，他對天安門廣場的流血事件依然感到深深的不安。

獨立思考，不為個人得失而同任何人任何政黨建立同盟。他同普通老百姓血肉相連，他熱愛平常人的生活，這樣的平常心態讓他保持了本色。他站在了一個人在任何社會都不敢站立的立場，也付出了巨大的代價，卻也從不後悔。追逐潮流，趕時髦的事情他是絕然不會幹的。傑克不會為了一碗湯麵而去參加什麼勞什子會館。讓意識形態見鬼去吧。就這樣，他的一生成就了高層次的名流，知他懂他的人一輩子都在紀念他，而不是一時半時的追逐和附和。傑克是顆星，其他人充其量就是一掃而過的流星。

傑克走了。我一直記得這個正直的男人。他一輩子都在尋找並捍衛人的正直感。他不止一次地失望過，但是從來不會有太多眼淚。

英文寫於一九九九年二月九日。中文翻譯於二零一二年二月二十八日

Being a Man 

I came to know Jack through work as Jack had been active in fostering understanding of China as a culture, a nation and a people, in the United States. Jack was a quiet man. Maybe he knew too much. Yet I felt, and can still feel the gravity in him as a man. 

Jack was aging. I don't remember when I started to send Christmas cards to him and his wife. This year I sent him a card but didn't get one back. My guess was that Jack had become too weak to write. On February 4, 1999, it became Breaking News on Yahoo that John Stewart Service had passed away due to heart disease in his retirement home in Oakland, California. When one reads about Jack, one also delves into some important lessons of the modern history of Sino-US relations. 

Just a year ago, Jack sent a Xerox copy of a typewriter-produced announcement that Caroline, his wife of more than fifty years, had passed away shortly before Christmas. I was saddened because I had the privilege to have met Caroline a few times and she was a very kind person. Jack was a strong man in every sense of the word; still on that occasion we decided to invite him to have Chinese brunch at a restaurant in Berkeley. The restaurant served some authentic Chinese items, such as soybean milk and Chinese oil stick as they called it here in America, wanton in red chilly sauce, steamed buns, onion cakes, et al. At least they looked authentic. Jack was born in Chengdu, Sichuan, child of a missionary family at the beginning of last century. It always brought him great pleasure to have those favorite dishes of his childhood. However, as years passed, Jack's health also eroded. He had lost most of his vision from both eyes and a lot of weight and thus looked like a bird with sunglasses. 

It pained him a little to ask others to give him a ride back and forth; only this time he had no choice. Up to last year when I saw him for the final time his mind was still sharp, his intellect intact. Like always, he asked about everyone and everything in our life. 

When we spotted Professor S.S. Chern (Chen Xingshen) and his family in the same restaurant, Jack got up, cancer and all, and all 88 years of him, and went to Professor and Mrs. Chern to say hello in his clear and quiet way. They knew each other from their days working as faculty and staff at the University of California at Berkeley. They bragged, in whispering giggles, about how many parts of their bodies had gone rotten as if broken organs were medals of honor. It was humorously somber for me as a youngster. 

Although there was more than 50 years between us, I didn't remember even once that Jack ever turned down an invitation from us. He was generous with his time and warmth, something that was appreciated by all around him. It never crossed Jack's mind that he was a celebrity, even though his life amounted to a thousand times bigger or deeper than any of the shallow figures coming down to us from all walks of life in this incredibly self-making and self-promoting culture. My blessing had been that I am not a star-gazer thus never looked up at him up as a celebrity type. Only with the eyes of the ordinary and for the ordinary I could felt the height of that man. Jack simply treated everyone equally with respect and affection and talked ordinarily like we were his friends or children. I always treasured the equality he radiated across time and cultures. He made instant connections with you when you didn't pretend to be someone else. 

About five years ago in the same restaurant, we invited Jack and Caroline to have Sunday brunch with us. It was their 50th Anniversary. They told us about how Jack who was stationed in Kunming at the time had to travel to Haiphong (Vietnam) by train to get married with Caroline because she had trouble getting her travel papers straight to China and Jack had diplomatic privilege thus could get in and out of China freely. Haiphong was the closest point they could meet and get married. It must have been a hectic time but the way the story was told did not reflected any of the tumult. Fifty years later it was all serenity with a few giggles. 

Jack loved Sichuan pickled noodles. We ordered a bowl just for him. Still he thought that everyone should have some; in his mind the entire world must have been craving for the soupy noodles ever since he was a child. We smiled at him and let him have the whole bowl all by himself. So, there he was, slurping his way to the last drop of the soup. It made his face glow. He was a neat person, except when facing down to a bowl of his favorite noodles. I made the mistake of cleaning up after him. He hissed at me for meddling with his joy. But Caroline straightened him up by pointing out that he should be polite in front of children. It was all good fun on a sunny Sunday morning in Northern California. 

Those who knew Jack have stories about how he became a different person once he landed in China, where he had returned many times in the 30s and 40s and again in the 70s and 80s. "He seemed to draw energy from the land beneath." People would say hello to him in the streets of Beijing. "Xie Weisi, ninhao!" China was his homeland. So much so that he could lead many of us on a tour of Beijing streets and tell us which street was called the Water Street and still bears the bullet holes from the days of the Boxer Rebellion. Jack was walking history and yet he never bragged about anything he knew. 

Shortly after I met Jack through work, I presented part of my humble writing about my childhood and asked Jack to read and critique. He was also an excellent editor at the University of California Press. It was thoughtless of me to throw some insignificant work at Jack but he didn't seem to mind at all. He patiently read through my clumsy writing and invited me to lunch. The lunch was quite a show in the retirement center. When Jack and Caroline led me through the buffet tables, other folks shouted across the dining hall at them. "Jack, Caroline, having a young man for lunch, eh?" It was a big deal for them to have visitors, especially young people. Jack was happy to show off this way as he smiled his secret smile without looking at the envious crowd. Ah, about my writing: "it's too tearful." That was all he said. It sounded so much like Jack. 

At his funeral, I learned from his children (who are now in their fifties or even sixties) that "being a man" was what Jack taught them to become through the years. A man shouldn't be too tearful, obviously, no matter how tough the going was in life. 

"Too tearful." I shall never forget that. Those words came from a man who had endured so much in his life. It was a phrase worth passing down to many generations when we or our children feel that we could no longer carry the weight thrown on our shoulders, be it glory or misery. 

Jack spoke impeccable Mandarin and Sichuanese and could hold a fast and musical conversation with villagers in the heartland of Sichuan. It was always a grave mistake if a taxi driver tried to circle the city in order to charge extra. Jack could tell him which Hutong to zigzag in Beijing or Chongqing and Chengdu and put the cabbie in deep shame. 

Jack's incredible knowledge came from non-stop learning as he had this "incredible thirst for knowledge." One day he presented this Chinese newspaper and asked me what those three Chinese characters meant in the name of the City of Melbourne. The translation system in Mainland China has become confusing through the years. Of course he made fun of those Chinese Americans of Cantonese descent who tried to show off their Mandarin in front of him. Jack made fun of them only because they wouldn't let Jack be the interpreter, which was what he was there for that day. So he said out loud in perfect Mandarin, "Ain't afraid of Heaven, Ain't afraid of earth, but scared to death to listen to Cantonese trying to speak Mandarin." He at age of 80 was of course joking, acting as an old fool in a Chinese way only he knew. I laughed my wits out, it was plain hilarious. 

Some people might complain that Jack was salty in his talks. Rather, let's put it this way, some people expected him to be bitter because he was a direct victim of the infamous McCarthyism. He was jailed and his career was destroyed in front of national audience. But Jack as I saw him was a person way above any petty bitterness or victimhood. He might sound a bit impatient with shallowness and pretentiousness, simply because he was a man who soaked into the wisdom of two worlds and got the best of his opportunities in terms of learning and self-enrichment. Jack solicited no sympathy or pity from any one simply because not many in the entire world was stronger than he was. Jack kept his eye on "the true facts as he saw them." He reported that way on his job and lived that way in his life. He might have praised Mao Zedong, Zhu De and Zhou Enlai and others in Yan'an some 60 years ago when Communists were uniformly condemned in the West. Jack based his recommendation on the distinction that Chiang Kai-shek and his gang were highly corrupted while Mao and his Red Army were clean and aspired to "save China" thus China would the Mao's and the US would be better off to foster a relationship with Mao. Jack was right, in spite of huge ideological differences. Jack was wrong because he was prosecuted for speaking for the Communists. Jack spoke his mind because his mind was sharper and more penetrating than mean-spirited ideologues. Decades later he was deeply bothered by the bloodshed in Tiananmen Square. 

Jack thought for himself, and he wouldn't form alliance with anyone or any ideology in life for personal gain. His connection with the ordinary folks and everyday life was too strong to inflate himself. He took a stance that was hard for any individual in any society. He paid a price but there was nothing to regret. He would not stoop himself for a trend. Jack didn't want to join a club for a bowl of noodles. Damn any ideology. As a result, he became a higher celebrity and merited more celebration than any short-lived glamour in the minds of those who truly appreciated him. Jack was a star while others could be only comets at their best. 

Now, Jack has passed away. All I can remember about him was "he was a decent man." All his life, he had been searching for and defending human decency. He was disappointed many times but he was never too tearful. 

February 9, 1999 

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