Contributions缴纳金的故事

派米·阿古达 熊钰颖

We have been practicing esusu1 for a long time. Our mothers did it， our mothers’ mothers did it. And probably their own mothers， too. We’ve never had a problem of this substance before， nothing so significant until this woman showed up. Nothing we couldn’t fix， anyway.

This is how our system works： each woman has one month to contribute a certain amount of naira2. Our names are on a list， and when that month is over， whoever’s number one takes it all. Then the contributions begin again， and at the end of the second month， number two collects. The names are always in random order. We go down the list until the last person has collected， then reset. This works for us. We don’t need your banks; we don’t need your loans. We can take care of ourselves.

Things aren’t always smooth. There was the time Iya Ibeji wasted her collection on a trip to Dubai—camel rides and shopping—and then couldn’t make her contribution the next month. We had to seize her frozen-food store’s generator until she came up with the money. We are not wicked people， you must understand， but for this system to work， there has to be order. Another time， Mrs. B had to pay hospital bills for her son’s operation. If we show pity even once， our structure will collapse on itself， so we seized Mrs. B’s daughter. The daughter made meals for us， she carried our bags when we went to the market， relieving us of some burdens; she rubbed our feet and plaited our hair. When Mrs. B raised the money， we sent her daughter back home. We still have fond memories of the girl： her sweet smile， her spicy beef stew， the way she sprang， lightly， from foot to foot as if her bones were made of paper.

Ours is a small group. We must be， for trust， for reliability. Not just anyone will accept our terms of admittance， both lifelong and strict. We take what we can until your obligations are met， and for many， this is too much power， too much risk. We haven’t invited you here， we tell the ones who balk， their necks tilted at beseeching3 angles; go try your luck at the banks. We’ve worked too hard to allow any stupid leniency4 that could risk sending us back to the gutters. So when the new woman came sniffing at5 our meeting， with her crooked teeth and shuku， we warned her， we asked if she was certain. Yes， she said， she needed an alternative to the banks; yes， she said， she was sure. She was a cousin to one of our brothers’ best friends， so we said okay， even if we were hesitant—our hands fiddling with6 wrappers， our chests tight， we welcomed her.

At first， things went smoothly. Nonsense hardly ever shows itself immediately. She paid her contributions on time; she came to the meetings and drank Fanta and ate chin-chin7 with us. She weighed in on8 decisions like what color to wear to Sisi Oge’s daughter’s wedding （pink or burgundy）， and whether we should collectively stop patronizing Nature’s Way Spa because the owner elbowed one of us on the way to get communion at church. But by the fourth month—six away from her collection month—she started leaving texts on our phones， begging for more time.

Look， it doesn’t work this way.

We appraised her life， checking for what we could seize， what we could take from her so she would understand the gravity of this commitment. We found nothing except a husband and an old mother in the village.

We seized the husband.

Alas， he was useless around our homes. He sat with our husbands， his big beer belly and their big beer bellies all shuddering gelatinously in mirth at some distasteful joke. Her husband screamed at football games with ours， played table tennis in our gardens， whooping like a fool whenever the ball thwacked against the paddle in his hand. Sometimes he looked at us. He looked at us and reminded us of the expanse of our hips， the heft of our breasts; reminded us of the ways our bodies take up space.

We returned the husband， and still she couldn’t pay her contribution， so we seized her mother.

Her mother was no better. The old woman sat brooding9 in corners， her eyes bulging out at us as we pounded yam or sewed a button on. She blended in with the cobwebs， her skin acquiring a dark fuzz， a gleaming scaliness， exploiting the shifting shadows. And when she eventually turned into a frog and then a lizard and then a cat， our children squealed10 in delight. But when they tried to pet the cat， she scratched their hands， drawing blood， leaving scars in the shapes of a strange language. She leapt away from our punishing arms to perch high above our heads， and we strained our necks to look at her， envying the fluffy agility11， the way she could wrangle her body into a smaller， lighter version of itself， stealthy and wily and out of reach.

We sent the mother away and called the woman in. What else could she give us to hold onto， until she could make her contribution？ We sat her in the center of the group， so she could feel our eyes prick at her skin from every direction， feel the pressure of our disappointment.

Look， she said， will you take my arms？

Her arms were long and muscular and had known work. We accepted them.

They were useful in our kitchens， these arms， chopping ugu leaves here and stirring a pot of ewedu there， pounding yam， slicing apples. They were useful in the household， sweeping dust down the corridor and rocking a child to sleep. Sometimes the arms wrapped around us when our husbands were yelling， or when the children were crying again， or when the sky looked the wrong shade of blue.

But still， she couldn’t make her contributions， so we held on to her arms.

My legs？ she asked， when—the next month—she still couldn’t pay. She sat， armless， collapsed buba sleeves at her sides， in the middle of the circle， her head bowed so that her braids hid her face from our questioning eyes. We had never seen such ineptitude12 before， such resignation to giving away body parts. But her legs were sturdy， with firm calves that could kick a football with our sons， and strong knees that braced our daughters’ heads when we plaited their hair， and a lap that received our heads when we wept because the sky was still the wrong shade of blue and our eyes felt heavy in our heads.

My torso？ she offered.

My head？ she contributed.

Her voice got airier13 with each new part given.

And what use were these breasts， this stomach， this heavy head filled with skull？ But we took and we took and we took.

It wasn’t until we had all her body parts that we saw what she had done.

Had we， too， not always wanted to shed our parts， be lighter， be nothing， be free？

Would we also not give anything to have our bodies no longer belong to us？

Now， we do not speak about it because we are too ashamed to acknowledge how she deceived us into carrying her， bearing her weight forever， her sinew and bones and teeth and muscle and breath and blood. We avoid each other’s eyes as we discuss contributions and collections. When we shuffle out of meetings， our shoulders hunch14， our treads drag from the burden of her， from carrying what we have taken.

我们很早就采用轮转基金来存钱了。妈妈用过，外婆用过，外婆的妈妈可能也用过。在这个女人出现之前，我们的基金从没出过问题，没出过这么严重的问题。无论啥事我们都能搞定。

我们的基金运转机制是这样的：每个女人按月缴纳一定数额的奈拉，缴纳人的名字都列在一份名单上;第一个月结束时，无论是谁，排在名单上第一位的，就把所有钱拿走;到第二个月结束时，排在第二的人拿钱，依此类推;名字是随机编排的，按名单依次拿钱直到最后一位，然后从头再来。这种模式很适合我们。我们不需要什么银行，也不需要什么贷款，我们自己干就成。

可是也有不顺的时候。有一次，伊亚·伊贝吉拿到钱后去迪拜旅游，大肆挥霍，又是骑骆驼，又是买东西，结果到下个月缴不出钱了。于是，我们只得把她家冷冻食品店里的发电机搬走，直到她拿出钱来。你要明白，我们并不是坏人，但为了让这个机制正常运转，就得按规矩来。還有一次，B太太儿子做手术，她把钱都付给医院了。哪怕我们就怜悯这一次，我们的系统也会崩溃，因此我们扣下了她的女儿。这姑娘给我们做饭;去集市时帮我们提包，这样我们就轻松点儿;还给我们揉脚，为我们扎辫子。后来，B太太筹到钱，我们就把她女儿送回了家。直到现在我们还对这姑娘印象不错：笑起来甜甜的，炖牛肉辣辣的，轻盈地一蹦一跳时好像身子骨是纸片做的。

我们的团体很小，也必须小，小团体才可靠，才相互信任。我们的准入条件不仅严格，还得一辈子遵守，不是所有人都能接受。你要是没有履行义务，我们就拿走你的东西，能拿什么拿什么，等你履行完再还给你——对很多人来说，这太暴力，风险也太大。有些人犹豫不决，扭着脖子做哀求状，对这样的人，我们会说，我们可没邀请你来，你还是去银行碰碰运气吧。我们如此尽心尽力，绝不容许傻傻地一时心软，那可能把我们送回穷困潦倒的境地。因此，当一个从未见过的女人来找我们表示有兴趣加入时，我们提醒她，问她是不是考虑清楚了。是，她说，她不想去银行了;是，她说，她考虑清楚了。这女人一口牙歪歪扭扭的，一头发辫在头顶盘成驼峰状。她与我们一位弟兄的好朋友是表亲，所以我们同意了，虽然我们还是有些拿不定主意——我们手上拨弄着包装纸，心里在打鼓，但还是表示欢迎她加入。

起初，一切都很顺利。不过坏事都是慢慢才暴露的。她按时支付缴纳金，按时来参加聚会，和我们一起喝芬达、吃亲亲。她还时不时发表见解，比如：参加斯斯·奥格女儿的婚礼该穿什么衣服，粉色还是酒红色;我们是否应该集体抵制纯天然水疗中心，因为该中心老板在教堂领圣餐时用肘推了我们中的一位。但是，到第四个月，也就是离她拿钱还有六个月时，她开始给我们发短信，恳求多给她点时间缴钱。

哎，这恐怕不成。

我们评估了这个女人的生活状况，看看可以拿走什么，只有这样，她才会明白违约的严重性。结果，我们发现，这个女人除了村里的丈夫和老母亲外，一无所有。

于是，我们带走了她丈夫。

哎，这个男人在我们各家百无一用。他和我们的丈夫坐在一块儿，开着恶俗的玩笑，他们硕大的啤酒肚像凝胶一样欢快地抖个不停。他和我们丈夫一起，看足球比赛时大声尖叫，还在花园打乒乓球，每当球撞到手里的球拍时，就像傻子一样呼喊。有时候，他盯着我们看。他盯着我们，让我们意识到自己的屁股多么肥、胸脯多么重;讓我们意识到自己的身体占了多大地方。

我们把她丈夫还了回去，可她还是付不起缴纳金，所以我们又带走了她的老母亲。

她母亲也好不了多少。这老妇人阴森森地坐在角落，我们捣木薯或缝纽扣时，她就那么瞪着我们，仿佛眼珠子都要掉出来了。她整个人融进了蜘蛛网，皮肤长出黑漆漆的绒毛，像发光的鳞片，在不断变换的阴影中闪烁。最终她变成了动物——从青蛙到蜥蜴，再到猫——孩子们看到后兴奋地尖叫。可当他们试着想抚摸这只猫时，她却抓伤了他们的手，鲜血直流，留下的伤疤形似一种古怪的语言。我们伸出胳膊想惩罚她，她一跃而起躲开了，高踞我们头顶上方的某处，我们只能伸长脖子看着她。她身体松软而敏捷，稍稍蜷缩便可变得更小、更轻盈，不声不响、不露声色就可以逃得远远的——这一切让我们羡慕不已。

我们把老母亲送回去，把女人叫了来。问她在能付清缴纳金前，还有什么可以让我们拿走抵押？我们将她围坐在中央，让她感受我们的目光从四面八方刺向她的肌肤，让她感受我们的失望带给她的重压。

好，她说，你们拿走我的手臂，成吗？

她手臂很长、很壮，一看就很会干活。我们收下了她的双臂。

她的双臂在厨房派上了用场，一会儿切槽纹南瓜叶，一会儿搅麻苡汤，捣木薯，切苹果。在家务方面，它们也大有用处，例如扫走廊上的灰，摇孩子入睡。当丈夫冲我们吼叫，孩子们再次哭闹，我们看什么都不顺眼的时候，这双手臂有时还会紧紧抱着我们给予安慰。

然而，她还是付不出缴纳金，所以我们就继续占用她的双臂。

次月到了，她依旧拿不出钱。我的腿如何？女人问道。我们围成一圈，她坐在中央，没了双臂，布芭裙空荡荡的袖管耷拉着。她垂着头，发辫遮住脸，挡住了我们盘问的目光。我们从未见过有人这样的无能，这样自愿放弃自己的身体器官。然而，她的腿非常有力，小腿结实得可以和我们的儿子一起踢足球，膝盖强壮得可以在我们给女儿梳辫子时撑住她们的头，大腿则可以在我们不顺心而哭泣时或眼皮发沉时托住我们的头。

我的躯干？她提议。

我的头？她主动献出。

每多献出一个部位，她的声音就变得轻松一分。

她的乳房、她的胃，以及全是头盖骨的重重的头，这些都有什么用？但我们还是拿了又拿、拿了又拿。

直到拿走了她身体的所有部位，我们才明白了她的意图。

难道我们自己不也一直希望卸下所有零件，变得更轻盈、无牵无挂、自由自在吗？

难道我们自己不是也愿意付出任何代价，只为蜕去这身皮囊吗？

现在，我们不再提这件事，因为我们不好意思承认这个女人欺骗了我们，让我们扛着她，永远承受她的重量——她的肌腱、骨骼、牙齿、肌肉、呼吸和血液。讨论缴钱和取钱这些事情时，我们都会避开彼此的眼睛。当我们尴尬地开完会，耸着肩离开，步履沉重，因为背负她的身体，因为扛着从她那里拿来的一切。

（译者单位：江西师范大学外国语学院）

1 esusu（尼日利亚的）轮转基金。轮转基金是金融中介中最简单的形式：一些人成立一个团体，然后定期支付约定的钱数;每次会面时筹集资金，每次轮转都会把钱给予一个成员，最后一个成员收到一次性付款后，团体可以选择开始新的循环或者解散。世界上很多发展中国家都存在轮转基金，只是名称各不相同，除了尼日利亚的esusu，还有merry-go-rounds（肯尼亚）、tandas（墨西哥）、tontines（西非）、chit fund（印度）、kibati（坦桑尼亚）、stockvel（南非）等。  2 naira奈拉（尼日利亚的货币单位）。

3 beseeching哀求的。

4 leniency怜悯。  5 sniff at sth对某事感兴趣。  6 fiddle with拨弄，摆弄。  7 chin-chin亲亲，西非国家一种广受欢迎的油炸面点，通常外表酥脆、内里松软，在尼日利亚尤其盛行，形状通常为方形（像鱼豆腐），口感松脆（像油炸的甜甜圈），有多种口味（香草和肉豆蔻口味最为常见）。  8 weigh in on就……发表见解;权衡。

9 brooding森然的;幽怨的。  10 squeal尖叫。  11 agility敏捷。

12 ineptitude无能;笨拙。  13 airy无忧无虑的。

14 hunch耸肩。

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