Chapter 29

Why do people move? What makes them uproot and leave everything they've known for a great unknown beyond the horizon? Why climb this Mount Everest of formalities that makes you feel like a beggar? Why enter this jungle of foreignness where everything is new, strange and difficult?

The answer is the same the world over: people move in the hope of a better life.

The mid-1970s were troubled times in India. I gathered that from the deep furrows that appeared on Father's forehead when he read the papers. Or from snippets of conversation that I caught between him and Mother and Mamaji and others. It's not that I didn't understand the drift of what they said-it's that I wasn't interested. The orang-utans were as eager for chapattis as ever; the monkeys never asked after the news from Delhi; the rhinos and goats continued to live in peace; the birds twittered; the clouds carried rain; the sun was hot; the earth breathed; God was-there was no Emergency in my world.

Mrs. Gandhi finally got the best of Father. In February 1976, the Tamil Nadu government was brought down by Delhi. It had been one of Mrs. Gandhi's most vocal critics. The takeover was smoothly enforced-Chief Minister Karunanidhi's ministry vanished quietly into "resignation" or house arrest-and what does the fall of one local government matter when the whole country's Constitution has been suspended these last eight months? But it was to Father the crowning touch in Mrs. Gandhi's dictatorial takeover of the nation. The camel at the zoo was unfazed, but that straw broke Father's back.

He shouted, "Soon she'll come down to our zoo and tell us that her jails are full, she needs more space. Could we put Desai with the lions?"

Morarji Desai was an opposition politician. No friend of Mrs. Gandhi's. It makes me sad, my father's ceaseless worrying. Mrs. Gandhi could have personally bombed the zoo, it would have been fine with me if Father had been gay about it. I wish he hadn't fretted so much. It's hard on a son to see his father sick with worry.

But worry he did. Any business is risky business, and none more so than small b business, the one that risks the shirt on its back. A zoo is a cultural institution. Like a public library, like a museum, it is at the service of popular education and science. And by this token, not much of a money-making venture, for the Greater Good and the Greater Profit are not compatible aims, much to Father's chagrin. The truth was, we were not a rich family, certainly not by Canadian standards. We were a poor family that happened to own a lot of animals, though not the roof above their heads (or above ours, for that matter). The life of a zoo, like the life of its inhabitants in the wild, is precarious. It is neither big enough a business to be above the law nor small enough to survive on its margins. To prosper, a zoo needs parliamentary government, democratic elections, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of association, rule of law and everything else enshrined in India's Constitution. Impossible to enjoy the animals otherwise. Long-term, bad politics is bad for business.

People move because of the wear and tear of anxiety. Because of the gnawing feeling that no matter how hard they work their efforts will yield nothing, that what they build up in one year will be torn down in one day by others. Because of the impression that the future is blocked up, that they might do all right but not their children. Because of the feeling that nothing will change, that happiness and prosperity are possible only somewhere else.

The New India split to pieces and collapsed in Father's mind. Mother assented. We would bolt.

It was announced to us one evening during dinner. Ravi and I were thunderstruck. Canada! If Andhra Pradesh, just north of us, was alien, if Sri Lanka, a monkey's hop across a strait, was the dark side of the moon, imagine what Canada was. Canada meant absolutely nothing to us. It was like Timbuktu, by definition a place permanently far away.

  第二十九章

    人们为什么迁移？是什么使他们离开家园，离开他们所熟知的一切，到地平线外完全陌生的地方去？为什么要经过一道道堆得像珠穆朗玛峰一样高的手续，让你感觉自己像个乞丐

    ？为什么走迸这座一切都那么新鲜、陌生又困难的异域丛林？

    全世界的答案都是一样的：人们迁移，是希望过上更加美好的生活。

    在印度，20世纪70年代中期是一个动荡不安的年代。我从父亲看报纸时额头上出现的深深的皱纹里，从他与母亲或玛玛吉或其他人交谈时的只言片语中得出了这样的结论。并不是我不理解他们谈话的含义，只是我对此不感兴趣。猩猩仍像往常一样迫不及待地要吃薄煎饼；猴子从不询问来自德里的消息；犀牛和山羊继续和平相处；小鸟唧唧喳喳地叫；云朵带来了降雨；太阳火辣辣地照着；大地在呼吸；上帝，在我的世界里，没有紧急惰况。

    甘地夫人最终战胜了父亲。1976年2月，泰米尔纳德政府被德里推翻了。这个政府是甘地夫人最直言不讳的批评者之一。接管顺利进行，卡鲁纳尼迪首席部长的内阁悄悄消失了，阁员们或是辞职，或是被软禁，当整个国家的宪法在过去八个月中已被暂时取消的时候，地方政府的垮台又有什么关系呢？但是，甘地夫人接管了国家，对她进行独裁统治，这对父亲是最大的打击。这就像压垮骆驼的最后一根稻草一样，虽然没有让我们动物园里的骆驼受到打扰，却使父亲再也无法忍受。

    他叫道：“很快她就会到我们的动物园里来，告诉我们说她的监狱里人满为患，她需要更多的地方。我们能把德赛和狮子关在一起吗？”

    穆拉吉·德赛是一位反对派政治家。不是甘地夫人的朋友。父亲不停地担忧，这使我很伤心。甘地夫人可以把动物园炸掉，只要父亲乐意，我不在乎。，我希望他不那么苦恼。看见父亲因为担心而心烦意乱，做儿子的心里很不好受。

    但是他的确在担心。任何生意都需要冒险，小生意冒的风险最大，能让人赔得精光。动物园是一个文化机构。像公共图书馆一样，像博物馆一样，它是为普及教育和科学服务的。同样，它也不是一个挣钱的企业，因为挣大钱和办好事这两个目的并不相容。事实上，我们不是一个富裕的家庭，按照加拿大标准当然不是。我们是一个贫穷的家庭，碰巧拥有许多动物，尽管并不拥有它们头顶（还有我们头顶）上的屋顶。动物园的生命，就像它的居民在野外的生命一样，十分脆弱。它既不是大到可以凌驾于法律之上的大生意，也不是小到可以在法律的空白里生存的小生意。动物园要兴旺发达，就需要议会政府、民主选举、言论自由、新闻自由、集会自由、法治以及印度宪法所奉为神圣的其他一切。长期糟糕的政治局面对生意非常不利。

    人们迁移是因为焦虑使人备受折磨。因为那种折磨人的感觉，就是无论多么努力工作，所有的努力都将没有任何结果，无论他们用一年的时间建造了什么，都会在一天之内被别人拆毁。因为有那么一种印象，就是通往将来的道路被堵死了，也许他们没什么，但是他们的孩子却不会有好日子。因为感到一切都不会改变，幸福富裕只有在别处才能得到。

    在父亲心里，新印度破碎了，倒塌了。母亲同意了。我们要逃离这里了。

    这个消息是一天晚上吃晚饭的时候宣布的，拉维和我大吃一惊。加拿大！如果说我们北边的安得拉邦是异域，如果说和我们隔着一条连猴子都能一跃而过的海峡的斯里兰卡是在月亮的背面，那么想想看加拿大是什么吧。加拿大对我们完全没有任何意义。它就像廷巴克图，永远是一个遥远的地方。