河南大妞馬郁

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1992 / 10月

文‧陳淑美 圖‧張良綱


採訪大陸配偶幾個案例時,政府放寬配額、遣返非法入境配偶的消息尚未發佈,因此跟她們話家常,談生活、都輕鬆可喜。

 

隨著新聞事件的進展,配偶們在台的生活,也跟著幾家歡喜幾家愁:馮潔的先生可能又要開另一家補習班,馬郁準備開個小吃館,黃秀珍也許很快就會被遣返……。


去年新曆除夕前,年過六十的老牌影星魯直,出現在救總排隊申請配偶來台的行列時,引起媒體一陣騷動。這位以演技著稱的演員,也愛上了大陸姑娘,盼著把她快快接來台。

「我從沒有想過再結婚」,魯直表示,到認識了馬郁,他的防線崩潰了。「我是想聽聽鄉音啦」,原籍河南的魯直說。

人生如戲

民國七十八年底,魯直回大陸探親,與馬郁認識後兩人相偕遊覽,奠定了感情基礎。緊接著魯直的電視劇在東北開拍,馬郁每天陪在身邊,情意日濃,隔一年就結了婚。

八十年十二月政府宣佈開放大陸配偶來台,魯直便立刻申請將馬郁,以及他們的掌上明珠——魯盼盼接來台灣。

想到可以不再受兩地相思之苦,一直到現在,魯直仍覺得像幻覺,不能相信美夢已經成真。戲演多了的魯直,這回可真的感受人生如戲了。

跟魯直同鄉的馬郁,今年六月底獲准來台時,再度引起媒體騷動。高悛漕郁驉B清秀的眉宇,在大陸新娘中,一下就搶盡眾人丰采。而他們的可愛女兒盼盼,圓嘟嘟的模樣,更令人打從心底疼愛。許多人都想說,魯直這個老芋仔可真福氣啊!

住在酒店堙H

來了三個多月的馬郁,目前還在一個什麼都新奇,但也什麼都不能適應的階段。

就說住大樓吧!結婚後,魯直在鄭州買了一棟大宅院,面積雖然不大,但街坊鄰居都熟,很能有個照應。魯直雖然長年不在,也不覺得孤單。馬郁說,有事出門,鄰居看她帶著小孩不方便,總會主動把孩子招呼了去。買東西回來,街坊也會幫忙來提。

「在這兒像住酒店」,馬郁形容台灣住家的感覺。「進了電梯,每個人都面無表情,跟塑像一樣」,她常想,奇怪,大家怎能長期這樣。

馬郁很少上街,有次孩子發燒,魯直不在家,她得送孩子到醫院去。等候看診時,兩歲的盼盼鬧了起來要吃奶,沒法子,馬郁提起了衣裳,便當眾餵起奶來。

霎那間,候診室六、七十雙眼晴全對向馬郁。「大家看我一副不可思議的樣子」,她形容。

在馬郁眼堙A此地的媽媽可真是「愛心不足」,「母親們全不餵母奶,每個孩子嘴上都是塑料奶嘴!」這回是她覺得不可思議。

全吃塑料奶嘴?

「在鄭州,女人一生完小孩就問,奶汁下來沒有,沒有奶,一家人都很痛苦。用法子,找偏方,就是要讓奶出來,沒想到,這兒的人卻放著大好資源不用」,馬郁說。

對此地的社會,馬郁顯然還在好奇階段。

小孩打預防針,她說,在大陸上,都是衛生所挨家挨戶來叫,街坊鄰居奔走相告!街道上到處貼滿通知的紅紙條。而在這兒,一切都得靠看電視、報紙,凡事得自己注意才行。

又像坐公車,馬郁老弄不懂,一群好友一道上車,為何還是各付各的錢?

處處看不慣的馬郁,偶爾還跟人吵架。有次坐計程車,司機多拐了幾個彎,她一火,一下車便大罵司機是臭流氓,欺負她不是本地人,引來一群人圍觀。還有一次,她去住家附近的商場購物,一上電梯,就看到一個店員小姐正踢腿玩;踢著踢著就要踢中她的盼盼,河南大妞於是大喝一聲:踢什麼踢,不會回家踢嗎!高亢的聲調令人側目,結果又是跟人大吵一頓。

是國營的、還是個體的?

一談到這些,魯直猛搖頭嘆氣。「她是北方人,個性又急,又是信伊斯蘭教的回民,好鬥啊!」魯直好擔心。

怎麼辦?只能細心開導了。「說來自私,雖然很多人不忍心說,但事實終歸是事實,我是老了」,魯直說,他跟馬郁差卅歲,馬郁跟盼盼又差卅歲,一家三口差三個年代。他能做的,也只是盡力幫母女倆,及早熟悉這社會。

魯直常帶著馬郁母女,坐公車大街小巷去逛。馬郁看到商店老要問:是國營的,還是個體的?魯直就耐心地跟她說,我們這兒的店幾乎全是私人,少有公家。

當她看到此地年輕孩子打工,便告訴她,這是父母要及早訓練孩子獨立,是工商社會很平常的事情……。「就把我當大兄長吧!」魯直說,這樣的夫妻關係,大家恐怕很難體會。

過渡期還有多長?

馬郁也知道自己得趕快學習。

想起初結婚時,家鄉的女伴們笑她,嘿!馬郁,因為你,地球上多出現了一樣稀奇事了——哪有人家結婚不住一塊兒的?當時,她只把它當玩笑,她其實很清楚,那只是個過渡期,先生遲早會來把她接走的。

而現在,儘管每個人都告訴她,這是另一個過渡期,一定會度過的。只是她實在不解,同樣是大姑娘出嫁,為何她的過渡期這麼多?

〔圖片說明〕

P.52

雖然魯直是著名的電視演員,但在鏡頭前,馬郁總先吸引攝影的眼光。

P.53

愛孩子的馬郁宣稱從來不讓孩子吃速食,但薯條不同,薯條是新奇食物。

相關文章

近期文章

EN

Ma Yu of Honan

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

When we interviewed the mainland spouses featured in this issue, news that the government was expanding its quota for mainland spouses but would deport those who had entered the country illegally had not yet been announced, and so they talked freely and easily with us about their lives and daily affairs.

Recent developments have brought joy to some families and sadness to others: Feng Chieh's husband may open another cram school; Ma Yu is preparing to start up a dim sum restaurant; Huang Hsiu-chen may soon be sent back to the mainland. . . .


When veteran film star Lu Chih, in his 60s, showed up in a line at the Chinese Refugees Relief Association late last year to apply for his wife to come to Taiwan, it set off a media storm. The famous actor had fallen in love with a mainland lass, it turned out, and was hoping to bring her over to Taiwan as soon as possible.

"I never expected to get married again," he says, but his line of defense collapsed after he met Ma Yu. "I missed hearing my hometown accent." Lu hails from Chengchou, Honan Province.

Life is like a play: They met at the end of 1989, when he went back to the mainland for a visit to his relatives. She accompanied him sightseeing, which built a foundation of mutual affection. After he finished working on a television show in Manchuria, she stayed with him every day. Their feelings grew deeper and deeper, and they got married the following year.

When the government announced last December that it would start allowing mainland spouses to come to Taiwan, Lu Chih applied at once to have his wife and their precious infant, Pan-pan, brought over.

When he thinks of how he no longer need suffer the pangs of being torn between two different places, Lu Chih, even now, still feels like he's living a fantasy: He can hardly believe his dream has come true. He's acted in many dramas over the years, but this time he's really come to appreciate the Chinese saying that "life is like a play."

When Ma Yu, who is from the same area of Honan as Lu Chih, was permitted come to Taiwan at the end of June, her arrival set off another media frenzy. She stood out at once from other mainland brides with her tall, slim figure, delicate features and elegant demeanor. And their adorable daughter, Pan-pan, stole people's hearts with her winning looks. Lu Chih was one lucky old fellow, many people thought.

Living in a hotel? Ma Yu has been here for some two months now, but she's still at a stage where everything is strange and new and hard to get used to.

Take living in an apartment building, for instance. After they married, Lu Chih bought a Chinese-style house in Chengchou. It wasn't very big, but the neighbors were friendly and they took care of each other so she didn't feel lonely even though Lu Chih was away most of the time. If she had to go out and the neighbors saw she was having trouble taking the child along, they would call her over and look after her for her. People would even help her carry the groceries on the way home.

"Here it's like living in a hotel," Ma Yu says about Taipei. "You get on the elevator and everybody is expressionless, like a bunch of statues." She often wonders how people can look that way all the time.

She rarely goes out. The child had a fever once when Lu Chih wasn't at home and she took her to the hospital. While they were waiting to see the doctor, Pan-pan, who is two, started to cry for her milk. Ma Yu was in a bind. She lifted up her blouse and started to breast-feed her in front of everybody.

Suddenly, the 60 or 70 pairs of eyes in the waiting room were all focused on her. "They all stared at me with an incredulous expression," she says. To her way of thinking, mothers here are really "deficient in maternal love." "None of the mothers breast-feed their children. Every baby has a pacifier hanging out of its mouth!" This time she's the one with the incredulous expression.

Are they all on pacifiers? "In Cheng-chou, as soon as a woman has a baby, she asks if she is lactating. If she isn't, the whole family's upset, and they try all kinds of home remedies to help her. I never expected that people here would let such a great resource go to waste," she says.

Ma Yu is clearly still at the stage of wondering why things are the way they are here.

On the mainland, she says, there are posters everywhere notifying people to get their children vaccinated. Neighbors run around reminding each other, and the public health bureau comes round door to door. But here you have to rely on television and the newspapers to find out about things and pay attention to everything yourself.

Another thing she can never figure out here is why friends getting on the bus together each pay their own fare.

With everything striking her the wrong way, Ma Yu occasionally gets in tussles. She got so mad at a taxi driver once who drove her the long way round that as soon as she got out she started yelling at him and calling him names, accusing him of taking advantage of her as an outsider and attracting a crowd of onlookers. Another time, when she got on an elevator at a shopping mall near her home, the elevator girl was sitting on a stool and idly swinging one of her legs. When she saw she was about to kick her daughter, Ma Yu yelled: What are you kicking for? Why don't you go home and do it? Her shrill tone was answered by an annoyed look, and she wound up in another quarrel.

State run or private? At this point, Lu Chih shakes his head forcefully and sighs. "She's a northerner. She's impatient. And she's a Muslim and spoiling for a fight!" he worries.

What can he do? Careful guidance is all he can offer. "Many people are too polite to mention it, but the fact is I'm old," he says. He's 30 years older than his wife and she's 30 years older than their daughter--three generations in a three-person family. All he can do is try his best to help mother and daughter get used to living here as quickly as possible.

He takes them on bus rides around the city to see the sights. When she sees a big store Ma Yu frequently asks him: Is it state run or private? He patiently tells her that almost all the stores here are private.

When she sees teenagers working at odd jobs, he tells her it's because parents want their children to learn to be independent. It's common in commercial and industrial societies . . . . "She treats me like her elder brother!" Lu Chih says, adding that it's a marital relationship that many people find hard to understand.

Temporary or permanent? Ma Yu is well aware that she has to learn quickly.

She remembers how the girls of her village used to laugh at her after she got married: Hey! Ma Yu, thanks to you, there's a new wonder in the world--who ever heard of people getting married and not living together? She passed it off as a joke at the time because she knew her situation was only temporary, that her husband would come to take her away sooner or later.

Now everyone tells her that getting adjusted is just a temporary phase, too, and that she'll surely get through it. It's just that she doesn't understand why the phase is so much longer for her than it is for other brides?

[Picture Caption]

Even though Lu Chih is a famous television star, Ma Yu is the one who draws the attention of photographers.

Ma Yu proclaims that she never lets her child eat fast food, but french fries are different--they're a novelty.

 

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