Rock Star（I'm Free）
Dedicated to Adele Adkins
Writer: Island
Edward had a handsome smile, with two white teeth, regular features, smooth skin, and the air of an innocent boy. But he was clearly no longer young; slight wrinkles lined his cheeks, and his confident eyes gave him a mature charm. Now, as he raised his black coffee cup, took a sip, and met my curious gaze, he smiled again, pursing his lips in a shy expression, yet also conveying a relaxed and carefree mood. My curiosity was piqued again. Why did this charming man always invite me here for coffee? His gaze was innocent; he never seemed to want to be intimate with me, even though I was beautiful—173 cm tall, with a full bust, a flawless white face, and most importantly, I was young, around 20 years old. Back in vocational school, many boys pursued me; I received over 100 love letters. That meant I had many suitors!
"Edward, I've always been curious, where do you live?" I asked again.
"I can't tell you," Edward said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I’m afraid you’ll fall in love with me,” Edward shrugged, then gave a wry smile. “What is love? If I’m dressed sloppily and don’t have that Jaguar outside, you won’t agree to go on a date with me. Even if you pity me, so handsome but no girlfriend, your mother won’t think that way. She’s already set you up with a life of luxury.”
“Then why do you like dating me?” I asked.
“Because you’re cute. You have it all: looks, charisma, figure, culture. Most importantly, you’re lucky. Remember when I told you that a witch told my fortune six months ago, saying I’d have a love story in New York, and if I believed, I’d get it. And then I met the innocent you,” Edward said.
“How ridiculous…” I laughed self-deprecatingly.
Outside the coffee shop, on the large screen installed on the second floor of the supermarket, a rock music video by singer N was playing again. He always liked to hold a red microphone while breakdancing. If there were ten most famous singers in music history, I think he would definitely be second. But tragically, he died in a plane crash last year on his way to a concert in Paris, France. He was only 30 years old. Many countries lowered their flags to half-mast in his memory.
“It’s ridiculous, you’re looking at N again, that failed man,” Edward said melancholy.
“Ha…failed, Edward, I find you laughable. If you say N is a failed man, then what kind of man is considered successful? Is it you, driving a Jaguar all day, all alone, idle, yet only I would admire you?” I teased him.
“Do you know why N committed suicide?” Edward’s tone turned sorrowful.
“Suicide? Why?” I asked.
“The N you know is the N you imagine. Warner Music created a hero archetype for record sales. Even without N, other men would have stood within that archetype. The company dictated what clothes this archetype wore, what he said, what songs he sang, including arranging all sorts of bizarre experiences, even making his scandals mysterious, to make this archetype more like a hero. But N was a person, not a statue. He finally broke down, becoming dependent on various drugs every day. He was tired of this life of wearing a mask all the time, like a lying man. He wanted sincerity, he yearned for freedom, so he committed suicide… When you think you see a certain kind of person, it's just an illusion, a disguise. Only when you try to understand will you see the real world…”
I was shocked and utterly absurd when I heard this, because Edward laughed again. But unlike his usual gentlemanly smile, it was a cruel laugh, a desperate look in his eyes, an absurd smile, seemingly mocking the outside world. I had a feeling that he had aged instantly, as if he possessed a long and arduous history, an unspeakable secret.
That night, after Edward and I parted ways, he drove his Jaguar back to the house he wouldn't let me go to. In a luxurious villa, under an extravagant chandelier, he opened a safe and took out a photo album. The album contained photos of N before and after slight cosmetic surgery, each with a different skin tone. And the N after the skin color change was actually Edward now. If I had X-ray vision and my soul followed Edward, I would understand. It turns out that the so-called world-renowned singer N didn't want to sing anymore, didn't want to face crowds, wanted a life where no one knew him, wanted to create his online game, so he faked his death, changed his skin color, and became the ordinary Edward he is now.
摇滚明星
献给阿黛尔
编剧：海岛
爱德华笑起来的时候很好看，两片白牙，五官端正，皮肤光滑，具有纯真男孩的气质，但他显然已不年轻了，两颊微起皱纹，自信的眼神，使他又有一股成熟的风采。现在，当他举起手里的黑色咖啡杯，轻饮一口，面对我的好奇眼神，他又笑了，抿着嘴唇，像是害羞的表情，与一种悠闲自在的情绪。我就又起好奇心了，眼前这个迷人的男人，为什么老是约我来这里喝咖啡，他看我的眼神单纯，从没想过要与我亲热，虽然我很漂亮，173的身高，丰盈的双胸，没有一点疤痕的白色脸蛋，重要的是我还年轻，20岁左右，以前读职业学校时就有很多男生追我，我收到的情书超过100封，这算是有很多人追求我吧！
“爱德华，我一直很好奇，你家住哪里？”我又询问。
“我不能告诉你。”爱德华说。
“为什么？”我问。
“因为我怕你会爱上我，”爱德华耸了下肩膀，又是揶揄一笑的说：“爱情是什么呢？如果我打扮邋遢，没有门外那辆捷豹跑车，你就不会同意与我约会。就算你会可怜我吧，长得这么帅，却没女朋友，但你的母亲可不会这么想，她早就把你当成豪门贵妇了。”
“那你为什么喜欢约会我？”我问。
“因为你可爱，外貌，气质，身材，文化，你全部具备，最最重要的是运气。你还记得我跟你说过，半年前有个巫婆给我算了一卦，说纽约会有一段我的爱情故事，只要我信仰，我就能获得它。然后我就遇上了纯真的你。”爱德华说。
“真可笑……”我有点自我嘲弄的笑了。
咖啡店外，超市二楼安装的广大屏幕里，又在播放歌星N的摇滚乐MV。他总是喜欢握着一个红色麦克风，一边跳着街舞，如果说音乐史上有最出名的十位歌手，我想他绝不会属于第二。但遗憾的是，他在去年一次前往法国巴黎的演唱会途中，遭遇空难，年仅30岁，许多国家为了他降下了半旗。
“真可笑，你又在看N了，这名失败的男人。”爱德华忧郁的说。
“呵……失败的，爱德华，我真为你感到滑稽，如果你说N是失败的男人，那什么样的男人才算成功的？难道是你么，整天开一辆捷豹跑车，孤孤单单，游手好闲，却只有我才会垂青你。”我也揶揄他说。
“你知道N为什么要自杀么？”爱德华的语气变得伤感。
“自杀？为什么？”我疑问。
“你知道的N，是你想象中的N。华纳唱片为了唱片销量，塑造了一个英雄模子，如果没有N，也会有其他男人站在这个英雄模子里。公司让这个模子穿什么衣服，说什么话，唱什么歌，包括安排各种离奇古怪的经历，就连绯闻也很神秘，以使这个模子更像一个英雄。但N是个人，不是个雕像，他终于崩溃了，每天依赖各种药物。他厌倦了这种成天戴着面具的生活，像个说谎的男人，他想要真诚，渴望自由，所以他就自杀了……当你以为你看见的这个人是什么样子，其实只是个假象，它是伪装的，只有当你试图去了解的时候，你才会看见真正的世界……”
我听到这里，感到很震惊，十分荒谬，因为爱德华这时又笑了。但不同于他往日绅士般的微笑，而是笑得十分残忍，绝望的眼神，荒诞的笑容，似乎在嘲讽外在的世界。我有种感觉，他刹时变老了，仿佛拥有一段沧桑的历史，无法说出口的秘密。
这个夜晚，当我与爱德华分开，他驾驶他的那辆捷豹跑车返回他不让我去的家时，一栋豪华别墅里，奢侈的吊灯下，他启开一个保险柜，拿出一本相册。相册里的照片，是一个个微微整容肤色不同前的N，而改变肤色后的N，其实就是现在的爱德华。如果我拥有透视之眼，灵魂跟着爱德华，我就该明白了。原来所谓的世界歌王N，他不想唱歌了，不想面对人群了，他想过一种谁也不认识他的生活，他想制作他的网络游戏，所以他装死，改变肤色，成了现在这个普通人的爱德华。
No comments:
Post a Comment