泉州姑娘黃秀珍

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1992 / 10月

文‧陳淑美 圖‧張良綱



電話堸搛禲C住在澎湖的朱明清很正經地回答,坐車到沙港天主堂,問人家「娶大陸仔」的家就知道了。

往沙港的巴士抵達時,一下車,看到前頭的老先生,正想開口詢問,老先生作了「跟我來」的手勢,不急不徐地說道「就是我們家啦!」。原來沙港居民不多,居然巧遇朱家老爸了。

討海人娶無某!

到了朱家,朱太太抱著已滿周歲的乳兒,她的婆婆捧著茶點待客,一開口就是「阮跟你們無冤無仇,報了以後不要害我們呀!」朱太太是台灣地區非法入境的大陸新娘之一。怕陌生人知道,怕被遣送,正是他們的心結。

朱明清,澎湖人。黃秀珍,福建省晉江縣人。民國七十七年經朋友介紹在泉州認識。他們是如何交往的?怎樣覺得對方就是能相守一生的良人?靦腆的黃秀珍低頭不語,好久才輕輕的吐出一句「不知道怎麼說啦」。

朱明清又怎麼說?「在澎湖娶無啊」,據他表示,澎湖的女孩都愛嫁台灣郎;澎湖在地的只嫁公務員,既斯文、收入又固定,「誰愛嫁我們這種黑黑土土的討海人」,他形容。

兩人認識後經過一長串奮鬥過程。不一定能來台灣不說,為了一張結婚文件,在泉州辦了一個月,花了人民幣一萬元。黃秀珍描述當時情景說,辦跟台胞結婚的人排了一整列,有的人辦來辦去就是證件不合,在隊伍媕Y相擁而泣。他倆排第十號,是泉州第一個辦成的。

向前行,什麼攏不驚

結婚後,朱明清為了和妻子相聚,到大陸來回了三、四趟。五個月前,一方面因為老是去大陸花錢太多;一方面因為孩子漸大,便決定把妻子接到澎湖。

在一個月黑風高的晚上,黃秀珍手抱孩子,帶齊了證件,坐著朱明清預先雇好的漁船偷渡了。船在海上飄了一天一夜,「我一直吐,囡仔一直嚎」,黃秀珍說,她只怕半路被抓到,只怕上岸後老公接不到,其他的,就只能唱「向前行,什麼攏不驚了」。

黃秀珍到澎湖的第二天就自首了。法院判她以人道理由暫緩遣送,一家人終能相聚。「孩子的媽不用老對人說,爸爸住在海對面了」,朱明清老愛開玩笑。

嫁過來的黃秀珍倒是不難適應。晉江原來就是閩南,吃的食物、拜的神、風俗習慣都差不多。跟婆婆、妯娌也相處的很好,但是心理總有異樣的感覺。「應該是過了海的關係」,她說。

愛吃魚就嫁討海W

但總還有所不同。

「這堛漱H比較捨得吃,男人們都吃得肚子大大的」,黃秀珍說,而漁民總把新鮮、名貴的魚留給自己吃,那邊的討海人都留著賣。

「燒瓷吃疵、織草睡椅(閩南俗諺,燒瓷器的人吃有瑕疵的碗,織草席的人睡木椅,比喻節儉度日)」她的婆婆一旁插話說。黃秀珍會心地點頭同意。

回想孤單等待的日子真是不堪回首。丈夫長年不在家,雖然去大陸時,總是大包小包,帶著米糧和日用品;雖然因為老公的接濟,家堣ㄦT吃穿,但是孤伶伶的一個人,還要應付周遭的詢問:他會不會騙妳,妳是作小的嗎?尤其是臨盆時只有嫂子在旁,更覺得自己可憐,現在總算「比較像一家人了」。

嫁給台灣郎,沒有嫁妝,沒有風光的婚禮,還偷偷摸摸的上岸,缺少眾人的祝福,會不會遺憾?

「愛吃魚就嫁討海W」,黃秀珍說,這是命,誰也抗拒不了。「這像釣魚,願者上鈎,是歡喜甘願的;而且,相疼不用儀式,對吧?」朱明清得意地笑了。

解救大陸同胞?

如今朱家夫婦可是鄉里名人。今年五月,日本NHK電視台製作大陸新娘專題,特別遠到澎湖朱家拍了三天三夜,事後拷貝了十餘卷錄影帶給他們分送親友。「太轟動了,怕很快就會被遣送」,朱明清一面苦笑,一面又像在開玩笑地說,「以前讀書的時候不是說,解救大陸同胞嗎,現在真的做了,怎麼反而不對了。」

一談到遣送,全家人都皺起了眉頭。

「遣送好耶,從此我過著幸福快樂的日子」,朱明清還在開玩笑。可是大家都懂得,玩笑堙A有太多的心酸。而黃秀珍卻只是每日祭拜著那尊從泉州帶回來的南海觀世音菩薩,求祂保佑一家人能像現在一樣,相聚在一起。

〔圖片說明〕

P.56

朱明清說,千萬別誤會,黃秀珍不是坐我的「聯宏明」過來的,如果是這條船,跑起來至少要八天七夜。

P.57

害羞的黃秀珍,一直不願跟先生拍照,可是她說先生不捕魚的時候,就會陪她到海邊散步。

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EN

Huang Hsiu-chen of Chuanchou

Jackie Chen /photos courtesy of Vincent Chang /tr. by Peter Eberly


I asked directions over the telephone. Chu Ming-ching, who lives in Penghu, said that I should take the bus to the Catholic church in Shakang and then ask anyone I might happen to meet where "the family with the wife from the mainland" lived.

When I got off the bus in Shakang, I was about to ask an old man for help when he made a gesture to come along with him and added, "We're the family!" It turns out there aren't many families in Shakang, and I had run into the elder Mr. Chu.

Shortage of brides: When I arrived at their home, Mrs. Chu was holding a year-old baby and her mother-in-law started serving tea. The first thing she said was, "I've got no quarrel with you. Don't let your article get me in trouble!" Mrs. Chu is one of the mainland brides who have entered the Taiwan area illegally. Fear of being found out, fear of being sent back, is their common fixation.

Chu Ming-ching is from Penghu, and his wife, Huang Hsiu-chen, is from Chinchiang County, Fukien Province. They met in Chuanchou in 1988, through the introduction of a friend. How did they get to know each other? And how did they come to decide they could spend the rest of their lives together? Shyly, Huang Hsiu-chen lowers her head and is silent, finally blurting out, "I don't know what to say."

What about Chu Ming-ching? He says it's "tough to find brides on Penghu." According to him, the women all want to marry men from Taiwan. The only Penghu men they're interested in are teachers or government workers, with genteel manners and a stable income. "Nobody wants us redneck fishermen."

Once they decided to get married, the two of them went through a long and arduous process. It took a month of applications and 10,000 renmenbi just to get a marriage license, which even then didn't mean she could come to Taiwan. There was a big line of mainland-Taiwan couples, she says, and some of them stood and wept in each other's arms when their application were turned down. She and Chu were tenth in line and the first couple in Chuanchou whose application went through.

Nothing's gonna stop me now: After they married, Chu made three or four trips to the mainland to live with his wife, but it was costing too much and the baby was getting bigger. Five months ago he decided to try to bring her to Penghu.

On a windy, moonless night, Huang Hsiu-chen set off on a fishing boat that Chu had hired before-hand, holding the baby and carrying her papers. The journey took a full day and night. "I was seasick the whole time, and the baby kept wailing." All she could think about was what if she got caught on the way or what if her husband wasn't able to meet her when she landed. As for the rest, she could only fall back on the Lim Giong song, "Nothing's Gonna Stop Me Now."

The day after she landed, she turned herself in. The judge ordered her deportation temporarily delayed for humanitarian reasons. The family was finally united. "She doesn't have to tell people that the baby's father lives across the sea anymore," as Chu likes to put it.

Adjusting hasn't been difficult. The people in Chinchiang and Penghu speak the same dialect, eat the same kinds of food, worship the same deities and observe similar customs. She gets along well with her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law, but she still feels a bit out of place. "It must have something to do with crossing the ocean," she says.

If you like eating fish, marry a fisherman: There are some differences, though. "People eat better here. The men all have big bellies." Fishermen here keep the freshest, most expensive fish for themselves, while fishermen over there save it to sell.

"Potters eat from cracked bowls, and mattress makers sleep in chairs [a Fukienese saying describing how professional workmen must be frugal]," her mother-in-law chimes in, and Huang nods knowingly in agreement.

She really can't bear to think back on her days of lonely waiting all on her own. Her husband was rarely at home, and even though he always brought lots of rice and other commodities when he came, so she never had to worry about food and clothing, she still had to deal with all the questions: Will he cheat on you? Are you his other wife? She really felt sorry for herself when she went to have the baby and her brother's wife was the only one at her side. Now they're finally "more like a family."

Does she have any regrets about marrying a Taiwan man--no dowry, no fancy wedding, having to sneak ashore, without the blessings and congratulations due to a newlywed?

"If you like eating fish then marry a fisherman," she says. It's fate, so why fight it? "It's like a fish getting hooked. She was happy and willing. And who needs the formalities if you're sweet on each other?" Chu Ming-ching says with a smug smile.

Liberating our mainland compatriots?

The Chu's are village celebrities now. This May, the Japanese television station NHK came all the way to Penghu and filmed them for three straight days as part of a report on mainland brides in Taiwan. They were sent a dozen or so copies of the tape for their friends and relatives. "It was all too much. We were afraid she'd be sent right back," Chu smiles and seems to be joking. "Didn't they use to tell us back in school that we should liberate our compatriots on the mainland? So how can they say it's wrong now that we really try to do it?"

At the mention of deportation, the whole family knits its brows.

"Okay, send her back. I'll get along just fine," Chu says, still joking. But everyone understands how much grief and bitterness there is in his words. And Huang Hsiu-chen keeps sacrificing every day to the statue of Kuanyin she brought with her from Chuanchou, praying that the family can stay together like they are now.

[Picture Caption]

Don't get the wild idea that Huang Hsiu-chen was brought over in my fishing boat, Chu Ming-ching says. If she had been, it would have taken at least a week.

Bashful Huang Hsiu chen has never wanted to have her picture taken with her husband, but she says that when he isn't fishing he often takes her for walks along the seashore.

 

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