靠恁娘MotherF**ker(in Henan dialect)

文/温柔而漫长的余烬 《靠恁娘》我蹲在宿舍楼后的槐树下抽烟，看三个北京本地生踩着滑板绕圈。他们裤裆耷拉到膝盖，像刚割完阑尾的流浪狗。其中一个突然指着我说："哎，瞅那河南佬，普通话都说不利索还学人抽烟。"我咽下喉头的半句"恁娘"，烟灰烫了手。 食堂窗口永远在重播同一句魔咒："要啥？"我说"两掺"，阿姨勺子抖得像帕金森晚期，把土豆丝拨进我米饭里。"两掺是胡辣汤加烩面！"后排戴眼镜的姑娘尖叫，她指甲涂成殡仪馆的紫。我捧着碗退到角落，听见俩上海男生用吴语评头论足："河南人是不是天天吃土？"我嚼着混了西红柿鸡蛋的米饭，想起高三教室墙上用红漆写的"杀进清华"，班主任说咱县二十年没出过一个一本，你得把脑浆子熬成灯油。 图书馆空调总在凌晨三点罢工。我裹着羽绒服刷题，耳机里循环播放《英语四级听力突破》，对面女生突然摘下她的香奈儿墨镜："你这发音，是跟村长学的吗？"我盯着阅读题里"后现代主义解构"六个字，它们像我妈在麦田里插的稻草人，张牙舞爪却守不住一粒粮食。去年寒假回家，火车上遇见个卖保险的天津人，他说河南人天生就会偷井盖，我差点用保温杯砸他镶金牙的嘴。 奖学金公示那天，我在榜单最末端看见自己的名字。旁边广告栏贴着"雅思保过班"，咨询电话是四个7。走廊里飘来河南话版《青藏高原》，是清洁工阿姨在拖地。我忽然想起高考前夜，我爸把攒了半年的鸡蛋都煮了塞给我，蛋黄噎在喉咙时，他笑着说："娃啊，考上大学就能吃上城里人拉的屎了。" 现在我又蹲在槐树下，烟头烧到过滤嘴。那三个滑板仔在讨论周末去三里屯泡妞，其中一个突然朝我喊："河南瘪三，借个火呗！"我摸出打火机，火焰窜起时看清他鞋舌上的Supreme商标。风把槐花吹进我眼里，涩得要流泪。这时候手机震动，我妈发来微信："听说北京下雨了，记得穿秋裤。" 我站起身，把烟头弹向他们的滑板。火焰在空中划出抛物线，像一枚被击落的卫星。"靠恁娘！"声音冲出喉咙时，槐树突然剧烈摇晃，花瓣暴雨般落下。三个富二代愣在原地，我转身跑向教学楼，笑声从背后炸开，和二十年前的麦浪声一模一样。 MotherF**ker(in Henan dialect) I crouched under the locust tree behind the dormitory, smoking while watching three Beijing natives ride their skateboards in circles. Their sagging pants hung down to their knees, like stray dogs just out of aappendectomy. One of them suddenly pointed at me: "Look at that Henanese guy, trying to smoke like a local even though he can't even speak Putonghua properly." I swallowed the half-formed "MotherF**ker(in Henan dialect)" on my tongue as cigarette ash burned my palm. The canteen window was looping the same spell: "What do you want?" I said "liangcan" (a mix of dishes), but the cafeteria lady's spoon shook like a Parkinson's patient, dumping potato strips into my rice. "Liangcan is spicy soup plus noodles in gravy!" a girl in glasses behind me screamed—her nails paintedMortuarypurple. I retreated to a corner with my bowl, overhearing two Shanghai boys in Wu dialect: "Do Henan people eat dirt every day?" I chewed the rice mixed with tomato-egg, recalling the red-painted "Crash into Tsinghua" slogan on our senior high classroom wall. Our county hadn't produced a single first-tier university graduate in twenty years, the teacher said, in case to achieve that you may boil your own brain matter into lamp oil. I'd wrap myself in a down jacket to study in the library when the AC failed at 3 AM. My earslooped the CET-4 listening tape. The girl opposite removed her Channel sunglasses: "Did you learn your pronunciation from the village chief?" I stared at the words "postmodernist deconstruction"—they loomed like my mother's scarecrows in the wheat field, flailing their arms to protect nothing. Last winter, a Tianjin insurance salesman on the train said Henanese were born to steal manhole covers. I almost smashed his golden teeth with my thermos. On scholarship announcement day, my name appeared at the very bottom of the list. Next to it was a "IELTS Pass Guarantee" ad with a phone number of four 7s. The corridor echoed with a Henanese version of "Tibetan Plateau" sung by the cleaning lady as she mopped the floor. I suddenly remembered the night before the college entrance exam. My father boiled all the eggs he'd saved for six months. When the yolk choked me, he laughed: "Son, once you get into university, you'll be able to eat the city people's feces." Now I crouched under the locust tree again, the cigarette butt burning through the filter. The three skateboarders were discussing going to Sanlitun to pick up girls on the weekend. One suddenly shouted: "Henan beggar, can I borrow a lighter?" I pulled out my lighter. As the flame shot up, I saw the Supreme logo on his shoelace. Wind carried locust flowers into my eyes, stinging like tears. My phone buzzed—Mom texted: "They say it's raining in Beijing. Remember to wear long johns." I stood up and flicked the cigarette butt toward their skateboards. The flame arched through the air like a falling satellite. "MotherF**ker(in Henan dialect)!" The words exploded from my throat. The locust tree suddenly shook violently, petals raining down like a storm. The three spoiled brats froze. I ran toward the teaching building, my laughter detonating behind me, identical to the wheat waves of twenty years ago.