舅舅 The Uncle

2014年我去加拿大交换，本来是打算好好学习的，结果到了发现课程非常简单，于是我就跟着一群欧洲交换生玩乐。我的交换生经历没学到什么正经的，但是学会了抽大麻。

当时的我暗恋一个德国男生。 他觉得我是一个什么都不懂的小妹妹，啥事都带上我。我为了向他证明我不是小孩子， 整天跟着他鬼混。 我就是跟着他抽了很多大麻。我们一帮人经常深夜去学校后面的海滩，听着海浪发呆，肚子饿了就开车去safeway，他吃炸鸡，给我买一块草莓蛋糕。

那年我过得很快乐很自由，我靠着给富二代写作业多赚了一些生活费到处玩，才发现天地如此广阔，而我大有可为。半年后我回到上海，生活一下子变成了按部就班的上课、去实验室、和实习。可是心里很骚动。

我常常路过留学生公寓，经常看到几个俄罗斯留学生就聚在宿舍门口飞叶子，而保安大叔就在旁边走来走去。原来那一年的上海，知道叶子的人并不多，保安大叔只是以为他们在吸烟，这些留学生才如此肆无忌惮。

渐渐课业也不多了，留学申请也稳步前进，我便经常跟朋友晚上出去玩。

我一开始就是去MAO听一些破烂摇滚乐。MAO、育音堂。这些穷大学生去的地方。这些摇滚乐队质量很差，livehouse基本没混音，还都是卖的假酒。一些热血大学生会弹几个和弦就能上去组乐队。我越发觉得没劲，就自己在马路上游荡，找别的好听的音乐。我游荡到jz club，里面的人西装革履抽雪茄喝鸡尾酒，我觉得好奇也进去跟着听，walking bass节奏稳健带着律动。出门看门口节目单，这是爵士，哦爵士乐，大人听的音乐。

我回到宿舍便兴奋地上豆瓣，疯狂看豆瓣上的音乐评论，刷豆瓣小组，什么miles davis啊john coltrane啊都被我翻烂了，豆瓣上谁发帖说要去看演出我就跟着去。有次遇到几个爱听音乐的同好，跟我说别听这些老古董，带你听点劲的，“你知道shelter吗？“。我来我才知道 Shelter是中国前卫音乐爱好者的天堂。Shelter这个地方吧，其实就是一个破烂防空洞。可是总有顶级音乐人来驻唱，hippop，techno，当年流行dubstep，黑胶专场请日本dj来打碟。那时候我对这些文化一窍不通，可是喜欢去，觉得这个世界很大，有很多有趣的人。

永福路shelter，幸福路dada，后来elevator开门 开始主打house。周一到周日场场爆满，周末门口都塞满了人，门口有卖烧烤的路边摊、代驾的、各种各样的生意。有一天我带同学去shelter玩好出来，想跟朋友装逼，我说你们抽不抽叶子，今天整点。我刚说完，好几个新疆人便凑到我面前，他们说“叶子 叶子”。120块一根卷好的，我嫌太贵了。这时候一个身高不高身材胖胖的大哥挤到前面说一百块。我便买了一根准备跟同学分了。这大哥的中文说不太好只能说些简单的词，显得很笨拙可爱，他说，美女加微信，I find you。我说好，下次再找你。就这样加了微信。上海的叶子，真的很差，完全不上头，但我觉得这个大哥胖胖的很可爱。我常常在各种酒吧门口碰到他，骑个小电驴，见到我就给我打个招呼，我也很热情朝他招手，有时候问问他生意怎么样。朋友问这谁啊，我便说是我舅舅，于是舅舅这个名字就在朋友圈传开了，不少人找我要舅舅微信，给舅舅带了生意他也挺高兴。

有一次我要从幸福路赶去定西路，没朋友跟我拼出租车，我在门口踟蹰。他看到我，踮着小电驴过来问我美女去哪里，我说去C's，他说我带你去，舅舅看着这么可靠，我想都没想就坐上了他后座。我扶着他的肩膀，上海的夏天很热，他的T恤摸起来汗津津的。电驴在梧桐树下飞驰着，风带来些凉意，我眯起眼睛，感受耳边自由的发丝，朋友们在C’s等着我，前方似乎是一片坦途。舅舅问我你之后去哪，我说我啊不知道呢，可能去mint吧！他说不是，明年呢。我说我也不知道呢，美国吧！

后来我开始考gre准备出国，生活一下子变得很忙，不怎么出去玩了，跟舅舅再没了联络。只是还是偶尔介绍顾客给他。2016年我来到美国求学，奔波于学校和宿舍间，没什么娱乐，就在豆瓣上写些狗屁不通的影评。看到上海朋友们的动态，像是离我很远，过去的路已在身后，而前方的路如一团迷雾。 2017年的一天早上我醒来打开微信。 收到了舅舅的消息，只有一行，美女，我想你。

过了几个月，我看到了一张新疆上空的卫星图。我害怕了。我去问我上海的朋友，跟舅舅还有联络吗，他说，上海已经没有新疆人了。他的好多朋友吸大麻都被抓进去了，要求供出上下游，不然就会留案底，我看着名字头像都变成另一个人的舅舅的微信号，我犹豫着要不要发一条消息。最后还是没有发出去。我害怕了。我不知道对面是谁。会是警察吗？我会有事吗？如果他们找不到我，我的家人会有事吗？
2016年 shelter关门
2020年 dada关门
elevator在2016年开门 2022年关门
武康路变成了网红打卡点，路上人挤人 路边涌现了很多小酒馆，贩卖着一种来自远方的优雅生活方式。上海依然欣欣向荣，朝气蓬勃的样子，可这背后，一切又都不一样了。

时间来到2022年，一天我坐在大都会的歌剧院里，前方优雅女士的耳饰熠熠生辉。而我低头看着手机里乌鲁木齐中路上愤怒的人们坐立难安。我冲出剧院在喷泉边哭泣，我哭泣什么都做不了，在这个自欺欺人的乌托邦倒塌的时刻，我不过是一个小布尔乔亚的空壳人。

我是连一条微信都不敢发的懦夫。

一年后我重新回到上海，一年前的动荡似乎已经被人们遗忘。我在安福路和朋友吃饭，这家叫蓝蛙的汉堡店曾经坐满了高声喧哗的老外，服务员个个英语流利。如今只有零散的游客来这里拍照。 远处便是乌鲁木齐中路的巷口，几辆警用摩托车停在那里闪着蓝光。

那一刻我想到舅舅 无论舅舅在哪里，我希望他知道，我也很想他，谢谢他和那年上海夏夜的晚风。

English Version Translated by Claude:

In 2014, I went to Canada on exchange. I had planned to study hard, but when I got there, I found the courses ridiculously easy, so I ended up partying with a bunch of European exchange students. My exchange experience didn't teach me anything respectable, but I did learn to smoke weed.

At the time, I had a crush on this German guy. He thought I was some clueless little sister and dragged me along to everything. To prove to him I wasn't a kid, I spent every day running around with him getting into trouble. That's how I ended up smoking a lot of weed with him. Our group would often go to the beach behind campus late at night, listening to the waves in a daze, and when we got hungry we'd drive to Safeway—he'd eat fried chicken and buy me a slice of strawberry cake.

That year I lived happily and freely. I made extra living money by writing assignments for rich kids, traveling everywhere, and only then discovered how vast the world was, how much I could accomplish. After six months, I returned to Shanghai, and life suddenly became routine again—attending classes, going to the lab, internships. But my heart was restless.

I often passed by the international student apartments and would see several Russian students gathered at the dorm entrance smoking weed, while the security uncle walked back and forth nearby. Back then in Shanghai, not many people knew what weed was, so the security uncle just thought they were smoking cigarettes—that's why these students were so brazen about it.

At first I just went to MAO to listen to some crappy rock music. MAO, Yuyintang—places poor college students went. These rock bands were terrible quality, the livehouses basically had no sound mixing, and they all sold fake alcohol. Some passionate college students who could play a few chords would get up there and form bands. I found it increasingly boring, so I wandered the streets alone, looking for other good music. I wandered into JZ Club, where people in suits and ties smoked cigars and drank cocktails. Curious, I went in and listened along—the walking bass rhythm was steady and full of groove. Walking out, I looked at the program poster by the entrance: this was jazz. Oh, jazz—music for adults.

I went back to my dorm excitedly and got on Douban, frantically reading music reviews, scrolling through Douban groups. I devoured everything about Miles Davis and John Coltrane. Whenever someone posted about going to see a show, I'd tag along. Once I met a few fellow music lovers who told me to stop listening to those old fossils, they'd show me something with more kick: "Do you know Shelter?"

That's when I learned Shelter was paradise for China's avant-garde music lovers. Shelter was basically a run-down air raid shelter. But top musicians would always come perform there—hip-hop, techno, dubstep was popular then, vinyl nights with Japanese DJs spinning records. Back then I knew nothing about these cultures, but I loved going, feeling like the world was vast and full of interesting people.

Shelter on Yongfu Road, Dada on Xingfu Road, then Elevator opened focusing on house music. Monday through Sunday it was packed every night, weekends the entrance would be crammed with people, with food carts selling BBQ skewers, designated drivers, all kinds of businesses outside. One day I brought classmates to Shelter, and coming out, wanting to show off to my friends, I said do you guys smoke weed, let's get some today. The moment I said it, several Uyghur guys crowded around me, saying "weed, weed." 120 yuan for one pre-rolled joint—I thought it was too expensive. Then this short, chubby big brother pushed to the front and said one hundred. So I bought one to share with my classmates. This guy's Chinese wasn't very good, he could only say simple words, which made him seem clumsy but endearing. He said, "Hi cutie, add WeChat, I find you." I said sure, I'll look for you next time. And that's how I added him on WeChat.

Shanghai's weed was really terrible, didn't get you high at all, but I thought this chubby big brother was quite cute. I'd often run into him outside various bars, riding his little electric scooter. When he saw me he'd wave hello, and I'd enthusiastically wave back, sometimes asking how business was. When friends asked who that was, I'd say it was my uncle, so the name "uncle" spread through our friend circle. Quite a few people asked me for uncle's WeChat, bringing him business, which made him pretty happy.

One day, I needed to get from Xingfu Road to Dingxi Road, had no friends to split a taxi with, so I hesitated at the entrance. He saw me, rode his little scooter over and asked where I was going, cutie. I said C's, he said I'll take you there. Uncle seemed so reliable, I didn't think twice before getting on his back seat. I held onto his shoulders—it was a hot Shanghai summer, and his T-shirt felt damp with sweat. The scooter flew beneath the plane trees, the wind bringing some coolness. I squinted my eyes, feeling my hair flying freely by my ears. Friends were waiting for me at C's, the road ahead seemed like smooth sailing. Uncle asked where are you going after, I said I don't know, maybe Mint! He said no, next year. I said I don't know either, America maybe!

Later I started studying for the GRE to prepare for going abroad. Life suddenly became very busy, I stopped going out much, lost touch with uncle. I'd still occasionally introduce customers to him though.

In 2016 I came to America to study, rushing between school and dorm with no entertainment, just writing nonsensical film reviews on Douban. Seeing updates from Shanghai friends felt very distant—the past road was behind me, while the road ahead was like a fog.

One morning in 2017 I woke up and opened WeChat. I had received a message from uncle, just one line: "Hi cutie, I miss you."

A few months later, I saw a satellite image of Xinjiang from above. I panicked. I asked my Shanghai friends if they still had contact with uncle. He said there are no Uyghurs left in Shanghai. Many of his friends who smoked weed got arrested and were required to give up their suppliers and customers, or they'd have criminal records. Looking at uncle's WeChat account where the name and profile picture had changed to someone else entirely, I hesitated whether to send a message. In the end I didn't send it. I was scared. I didn't know who was on the other side. Could it be police? Would I get in trouble? If they couldn't find me, would my family get in trouble?

2016: Shelter closed. 2020:Dada closed. Elevator opened in 2016, closed in 2022. Wukang Road became an internet-famous check-in spot, crowded with people. Many "bistros" appeared on the street, selling an elegant lifestyle from afar. Shanghai still looked prosperous and vibrant, but beneath it all, everything had changed.

Time came to 2022. I had come to New York that year. One day I sat in the MET Opera House, the elegant lady in front of me had earrings that sparkled brilliantly. I looked down at my phone at the angry people on Urumqi Road, unable to sit still. I rushed out of the theater and cried by the fountain. I cried that I could do nothing, in this moment when the self-deceiving utopia collapsed, I was nothing but an empty shell of a petite bourgeoisie.

I was a coward who didn't even dare send a WeChat message.

A year later I returned to Shanghai. The turmoil from a year ago seemed to have been forgotten by people. I was having dinner with friends on Anfu Road, at this burger place called Blue Frog that used to be packed with loud foreigners, where every server spoke fluent English. Now only scattered tourists came here to take photos. In the distance was the alley entrance to Urumqi Middle Road, where several police motorcycles were parked, flashing blue lights.

In that moment I thought of uncle. Wherever uncle is, I hope he knows that I miss him too, and thank him for that summer night breeze in Shanghai that year.