Summary

我去杭州海o玩儿了，坐卧铺火车去的，于是在高得要命的上铺构思了这些情节。

大约是柯存活if，两人刚开始漂泊不久。

本篇为中英双语版本，英语在后

       售票员舔舔手指，数着手上的钞票，抬头扫了眼柯拉松的脚边，将一张纸钞和几枚硬币推回来。金属隔着纸币刮擦木质柜台，闷闷地呻吟一声。“十二岁以下不占床位。”

       “可是——”没点燃的香烟在柯拉松嘴边晃悠。

       罗松开他的手，踮起脚从柜台上拿走找零，转头冲柯拉松淡淡一笑：“省钱啦。”

       “早饭六点到八点，午饭十二点到一点半，晚饭自理，过时不候；禁止打架，禁止点燃任何东西——”售票员剜一眼面前高个男人嘴里的烟，“——否则扔下海。大人小孩一视同仁。”

       被点名的大人小孩默默点头，准备离开。

       “等一下。”售票员叫住两人，指着柯拉松问罗：“小孩，他是你什么人？”

       停职海军中校藏在羽毛大衣里的手骤然缩紧，往后腰某个硬物探去。

       “我叔叔。”罗得仰着脑袋才能回答对面的问题。

       售票员眯起眼睛：“长得不像啊。”

       柯拉松上前一步，按住罗的肩膀。“我姐姐的孩子，长相随他爸。”

       售票员又上下打量他们好几秒，才挥挥手：“没事了，上船吧。”

       柯拉松没动：“刚才是哪一出？”

       “最近拐卖小孩的多，例行检查。”售票员已经不再关注他了，低头将收到的纸币对折，硬币扫进抽屉。“下一个！”

       登船的舷梯上，罗捏捏柯拉松的手——他一整只手现在大概能包住那骨节分明、遍布疤痕的大手约三根手指，“‘姐姐的孩子？’”

       “呃，”柯拉松拨弄着兜帽垂下来的红心，“总不能说你是‘哥哥的孩子’吧，毕竟我真的有个哥。”

       罗打了个冷颤：“恶。”

       柯拉松摇头：“恶。”

       在拥挤的下层甲板寻找舱位时，柯拉松想：近期增多的拐卖事件估计与他那个哥有关。但罗都评价“恶”了，他决定不提起这茬。

       两人运气不太好，抽到三层吊床的最上铺。只有穷人、糙人和不怕死的人才乐意靠这种货船提供的铺位进入伟大航路，他俩的下铺大概就是这种人。不过，看上去再不好惹的腱子肉和疤痕在柯拉松的身高下也得退避三分。他先将罗抱上床，然后两个下铺默默蜷起腿留出空间，让他踩着床尾爬上去——破天荒地居然没有摔下来。吊起床铺的麻绳和铁环摩擦吱呀作响，柯拉松坐在床上只能把背弯成虾米形状。

       罗指指嘴巴，柯拉松了然。响指声后，乌紫色的气泡将上铺包裹起来，中铺抱怨自己可能随时被大个子砸死的嘟囔戛然而止。

       罗掀开羽毛大衣，钻到附着淡淡烟草味的织物下面，放松地半躺下来。“看吧，我不需要单独的床。”

       柯拉松想起售票处门口的身高标尺：“可你十三岁了。”

       “个头没到，没办法。”罗耸耸肩，“该说感谢珀铅病？”

       柯拉松——罗西南迪——皱起眉头回忆自己十三岁时大概多高。战国办公室里可没有身高标尺，卡普闯进来开茶话会偶尔撞见他时总评价道“我儿子像你这么大的时候可矮多咯战国偷偷喂你啥补品了有好东西也给我尝尝呗”。抛开血统差异不谈（他真想永远抛开血统差异不谈），在普通小孩中，罗的个子也算矮的，和这小孩的心智完全不搭，而奔波漂流的生活对青少年的发育可没有半点好处。

       他的思绪被一只抚上眉间的、干燥的小手打断：“干嘛，柯拉先生，又是这种凶巴巴的表情。”罗瞪他。

       “还是别感谢那种东西吧。”

       罗沉默了一会，“……嗯。”

       “你会长高的。”

       “我知道啊，我每天都扫描自己，离骨垢线闭合还远得很。”

       “……每天？”

       “也扫描你。”罗别过脑袋，拉低帽檐，只留给柯拉松毛茸茸的后脑勺。“少抽烟。”

       他听医嘱地拿掉嘴里的烟，塞进口袋。

       买票时几近黄昏，夜间海风冷得伤人，下床也麻烦，两人决定缩在床铺上用随身携带的干粮应付掉晚餐。饭后柯拉松解除了静音，伴着罗往随身笔记本上写画的沙沙声小憩了一会，再度睁开眼时周围已安静许多，只剩鼾声此起彼伏。罗没在做笔记了，两手抱腿，下巴压在膝盖上，凝视着漆黑的船舱双眼放空。

       “不睡吗？”柯拉松张开静音壁，半坐起身，哑着嗓子问。

       罗许久没有回答，久到柯拉松差点以为自己无意中对他使用了凪。终于，小孩开口了：“柯拉先生怎么知道的？”

       “知道什么？”

       “我长相随爸爸。”

       睡迷糊的脑袋好一会才想起曾经说过的话：“……我不知道。只是那个售票员肯定觉得你长得不像我，或我不存在的姐姐。”他谨慎地停在这里，不补充也不追问。

       他应该选对了，因为罗选择继续说下去。“很多人都说我像爸爸，我自己也觉得像。”

       “那些人都有谁？”

       罗低头掰手指，“爸爸妈妈、拉米、修女、同学，还有爸爸妈妈的同事。”

       柯拉松既想问“拉米是谁”，又想说“原来你们那里有修女啊”，结果两句话在嘴边打起架，导致他一句也说不出口。而罗好像看懂了面前这个成年人脑内笨拙的天人交战，慢条斯理地一一回答：“拉米是我妹妹。我上的是修道院附属小学。”

       他终于在“你妹妹长得比较像谁”和“我不知道弗雷凡斯是宗教国家”之间决定出了回答优先级。他先说的后一句。

       “很多人误以为科学和神学不能共存，在弗雷凡斯不是这样的。”罗像看一片星空那样仰头望着黑压压的天花板，“遇到祈祷没法解决的健康问题，神父会推荐大家去看医生。医院里有祷告室。妈妈怀拉米的时候，在家附近的修道院诊所坐诊。”

       “听上去很安心。”柯拉松在想象罗穿唱诗班小礼服的模样，“拉米长得更像谁？”

       “头发和脸像妈妈，声音谁都不像。”罗笑起来，“又高又尖，经常大喊大叫，所以沙沙的。和她一起看索拉舞台剧的时候，在旁边要把我吵聋了。”

       “《海洋战士索拉》？”与家人共处的最后两年中，罗西南迪依稀记得那栋很快便不属于他们的豪宅书房里似乎有这么一套漫画。被战国收养后，海军内部流行的文娱活动天南地北大杂烩，等到再次翻开那套北海人的童年经典时，他距离喜欢特摄英雄的年纪已经一去不复返了。

       “柯拉先生看过吗？”

       从某一个时刻起，柯拉松便决定再也不要对罗撒谎，于是如实承认：“看过，但长大之后才看，印象不深了。”

       “噢。”罗掩饰着声音里显而易见的落寞。

       “不过，”他同样不愿意听见那下垂的语调，“我最讨厌隐形黑。”

       罗噗嗤笑出声：“为什么？”

       “总觉得他的能力很狡猾，说不定不和索拉打架的时候就去偷窥女澡堂。”他怀疑面向儿童的漫画不太可能把这种情节画出来。

       “哇啊，恶。”

       “对吧？恶。”

       “我的话，杰尔玛的所有人都讨厌。”罗比出六根手指。

       “六个人……？”

       “五个士兵，加上他们的头头啦。笨蛋柯拉先生。”

       “又嘲笑我……你总有最讨厌的吧。”

       罗撅起嘴，似乎在做什么艰难的判断，“非要说的话，剧毒粉。”

       “讨厌一个女孩子？不太有绅士风度啊。”

       罗的声音骤然低下去。“只要是医生，都会讨厌下毒的。”

       见鬼，又说错话了。柯拉松懊恼地想，无意识啧了一声。罗捕捉到这细微的声音，食指抖了抖，在一片漆黑中摸索着找到柯拉松的手，搭在他的大拇指上。“拉米也最讨厌隐形黑。”

       柯拉松转而覆盖住那只小手，笑道：“看来我也有同类。”

       “她认为隐形黑玩捉迷藏肯定天下无敌，太不公平。”

       “这倒是。考试的时候还能偷看别人的答案。”

       “拉米……没有考过试。”

       柯拉松想揍自己一拳。他怎么老这样？

       “她好幸运。”罗挪挪身子，缩在大人的两条长腿之间，向后靠在他的肚子上，“我不讨厌生物和数学考试，但是讨厌历史。”

       “怎么会？我觉得历史还挺有趣的。”

       然后，柯拉松便知道了弗雷凡斯的义务教育历史课本已经有近十年没更新过，插图、练习和例题又过时又无聊。他还得知罗的爸爸虽然是全科医生，但最讨厌牙科，尤其讨厌给小朋友看牙；罗的妈妈则正好相反，她有一种魔力，可以将所有小孩哄上躺椅乖乖待四十五分钟；每逢庆典，弗雷凡斯的商贩间便流行一种气球骗局，对手里捏着零花钱的小孩屡试不爽（虽然罗避免承认，但柯拉松猜他肯定也被骗过钱）；拉米的同学有全套《海洋战士索拉》彩色版漫画，她吵着也要一套作为生日礼物。虽然罗没有说她最后是否拿到了漫画，柯拉松差不多也明白结果是什么了。

       其实，他们今天白天一直在赶路，本来应该非常疲劳，困意理应不可阻挡。可是罗一直在说话——眉飞色舞地描述，断断续续地回忆，慷慨激昂地吐槽。柯拉松认为他不会犯困了，自己更不会。夜晚很长，罗的人生又很短。某一个音节落下后，个头完全看不出已经十三岁的小孩便再也想不到有什么可讲的。于是柯拉松慢慢帮他摘下帽子，在汗津津的黑色短发发梢落下一个比大衣上一根黑色羽毛还轻的吻。“后来呢？修女的鹦鹉飞走之后，再也没回去了？”

       “……再也没回去了。”

       “也挺好。远走高飞，适合自由的鸟儿。”

       “它那时候才八个月大，活得下去吗……”

       “谁知道呢。”他将怀中胸口起伏越来越缓慢的小孩搂紧了些，“我觉得会哦。”

       回答他的只有均匀而平和的呼吸。

       “一定会的。”而他如此回答这些呼吸声。

End Notes

别买三层卧铺的最上铺！除非你吃了橡胶果实，或你身高293cm。

The conductor licked her fingers, counted the Berries in her hand, glanced down at Corazon’s feet, and pushed back a bill and a few coins. The copper pieces scraped against the wooden counter through the paper bill, letting out a muffled groan. “Children under twelve don’t take up a bed.”

“But—” The unlit cigarette dangled between Corazon’s lips.

Law let go of Corazon’s hand, stood on tiptoe to take the change from the counter, then turned and gave him a faint smile. “Saved money for us.”

“Breakfast from six to eight, lunch from twelve to one-thirty, dinner is on your own, no food service outside those hours. Fighting is prohibited. Arson, too—” the conductor glared at the cigarette in the taller man’s mouth, “—break the rules and you’ll be thrown overboard. Same for adults and children.”

The named adult and child nodded silently, preparing to leave.

“Wait a sec.” The conductor stopped them, pointing at Corazon and asking Law, “Kid, who is he to you?”

The suspended Marine commander’s hand, hidden inside his feathered coat, suddenly tightened, reaching toward a hard object at the small of his back.

“My uncle.” Law had to tilt his head back to answer the question came from the other side of the counter.

She squinted. “You two don’t look alike.”

Corazon stepped forward, placing a hand on Law’s shoulder. “My sister’s child. He takes after his father.”

She then sized them up for a few more seconds before waving them off. “Alright, go ahead.”

Corazon didn’t move: “What was that all about?”

“Just routine check. Kidnapping cases has been on the rise lately.” the conductor was no longer paying attention to them, looking down to fold the received bills in half and sweeping the coins into the drawer. “Next!”

On the boarding gangway, Law squeezed Corazon’s hand—the kid’s entire hand could now probably wrap around about three of the bony, scarry fingers of that larger hand. “Your sister’s child?”

“Uh,” Corazon fiddled with the red heart dangling from his hood, “Can’t really say you are my brother’s child, right? Since I do…have a brother.”

Law shivered. “Ew.”

Corazon shook his head. “Ew.”

While searching for their assigned cabin on the crowded lower deck, Corazon thought: the recent increase in kidnapping incidents was probably related to that brother of his. But since Law commented “Ew” on that particular individual, he decided not to bring it up.

The two of them were not exactly lucky, since they were assigned the top bunk in a three-tier hammock. Only the poor, the rough, or those with a death wish would willingly enter the Grand Line on a cargo ship offering such berths—their lower bunkmates were likely to be those types. However, even the most intimidating muscles and scars had to yield somewhat in the presence of a ridiculously tall guy like Corazon. He first lifted Law onto the bunk, then the two lower bunkmates silently curled their legs to make space, allowing him to climb up by stepping on the foot of the bed—he didn’t fall this time. What a miracle. The hemp ropes and iron rings suspending the bunk creaked and moaned, and Corazon had to hunch his back like a shrimp just to sit on the bed.

Law pointed to his mouth, and Corazon understood. After a gentle snap, a dark purple bubble enveloped the upper bunk, abruptly cutting off the middle bunk’s grumbling about possibly being crushed to death by a big guy at any moment.

Law lifted the man’s feather coat and slipped under the fabric, which carried a faint scent of tobacco, relaxing into a half-reclined position. “See? I don’t need a separate bed.”

Corazon recalled the height chart at the ticket booth entrance: “But you’re already thirteen.”

“I’m not tall enough, can’t really do with that.” Law shrugged. “Thanks to Amber Lead syndrome?”

Corazon—Rosinante—frowned as he tried to recall how tall he had been at around the same age. There were no height charts in Sengoku’s office, and whenever Garp burst in for an impromptu tea party and happened to see him, he’d always comment, “My son was much shorter than you at this age, Rosi-boy! What kind of supplements have you been secretly fed? I WILL force your old man to give me some if those are genuinely good stuff!” Setting aside the celestial bloodline differences (he really wished he could set them aside forever), even among ordinary children, Law was shorter than his peers—completely mismatched with the kid’s mature mindset. On the top of that, a life of constant drifting and wandering certainly didn’t do any favors for a thirteen-year-old’s growth.

The thoughts were interrupted by a small, dry hand brushing against his furrowed brow. “What’s with this fierce look again, Cora-san?” Law glared at him.

“Better not thank something like that.”

Law fell silent for a moment. “…Right.”

“You’ll grow taller.”

“I know. I scan myself every day. The growth plates are still far from closing.”

“…Every day?”

“I scan you, too.” Law turned his head away, pulling his hat down low, leaving only the back of his fluffy head for Corazon to see. “Just smoke less.”

He followed the doctor’s orders, obediently removed the cigarette from his mouth and tucked it into his pocket.

It was nearly dusk when they bought the tickets. The sea breeze at night was evolving from merely chilling to nearly killing, not to mention that getting out of bed was a real hassle. So, they decided to huddle in their bunk and make do with the rations they had brought along for supper. After the meal, Corazon inactivated Silent and dozed off to the soft rustling of Law scribbling in his notebook. When he opened eyes again, the surroundings had grown much quieter, with only the sound of other passengers snoring rising and falling. Law had stopped taking notes, hugging his legs with chin resting on his knees, his gaze fixed blankly into the dark cabin.

“Not sleeping?” Corazon half-sat up. His voice hoarse as he asked while lifting the Silent bubble.

Law didn’t answer for a long time, so long that Corazon almost thought he had accidentally used Calm instead of Silent on the kid. Finally, the younger one spoke: “Cora-san, how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I look like my father.”

It took a while for the sleep-addled brain to recall what he had said before. “…I didn’t know. It’s just that ticket clerk must have thought you don’t look like me, or my non-existent sister.” He stopped there cautiously, neither adding anything nor pressing further questions.

He must have chosen the right approach, because Law then continued. “A lot of people say I look like my father. I think so too.”

“Who are them?”

Law lowered his head and counted on his fingers, “Mom, Dad, Lami, the nuns, my classmates, and my parents’ colleagues.”

Corazon wanted to ask, “Who is Lami?” and also say, “So you had nuns back there.” But the two sentences tangled on his tongue, leaving him unable to utter either. Law, as if understanding the clumsy internal struggle in the adult’s mind, answered amusedly, one by one: “Lami is my little sister. I attended a convent-attached elementary school.”

He finally decided on the priority between “Who does your sister look more like?” and “I didn’t know Flevance was a religious country.” He responded in the latter one first.

“Many people assumed that science and theology cannot coexist, but that wasn’t the case in Flevance.” Law looked up at the dark, oppressive ceiling as if he was gazing at a starry sky. “When church is not able to solve health concerns, the priest would recommend seeing a doctor. There were prayer rooms in hospitals across the country. When Mom was pregnant with Lami, she worked at the clinic in a monastery near our home.”

“That sounds reassuring.” Corazon was imagining little Law in a choirboy’s outfit. “Who does Lami look more like?”

“Her hair and face are like Mom’s, but her voice is like no one else’s.” Law smiled. “It’s so high-pitched and sharp, and she often shouts, so also a bit raspy. When we watched Sora stage plays together, she nearly deafened me sitting right beside and screaming.”

“Sora, Warrior of the Sea?” During the last two years he spent with Donquixote family, Rosinante vaguely remembered that there seemed to be a set of such comics in the study of the mansion that would soon no longer belong to them. After being adopted by Sengoku, the popular entertainment activities within the Marine were basically a chaotic mix of everything from the four Blues and the Grand Line. By the time he opened that classic reading for the North Blue children again, he was already far from the age of being a huge fan of heroic comics.

“Have you read it, Cora-san?”

From a certain moment on, Corazon had decided never to lie to Law again, so he admitted honestly, “I’ve read it, but only after growing up, so it didn’t leave much impression to me as to a child like you.”

“Oh.” Law tried to hide the obvious despondence in his voice.

“However,” he also didn’t want to hear that dropped tone, “I do remember the characters. I hate Invisible Black the most.”

Law chuckled, “Why?”

“His ability always seemed sneaky to me. He probably sneaks into the women’s bathhouse when he’s not fighting Sora.” Although he doubted a comic book aimed for children would ever actually depict that kind of scene.

“Ugh. Ew.”

“Right? Ew.”

“As for me, I hate every single one of them in Germa.” Law held an opened hand and an index finger.

“Six…?”

“The five soldiers, plus their boss! Dumb Cora-san.”

“Alright, alright, dumb me…but you must have the least favorite.”

Law pouted, as if making a difficult decision. “If I had to choose, it would be Poison Pink.”

“Hating a girl? That’s not very gentlemanly.”

Law’s voice suddenly dropped low. “Any doctor would hate poisoners.”

Shit, said the wrong thing again. Corazon thought with annoyance, unconsciously clicking his tongue. Law caught that subtle sound, his index finger twitching, groping in the pitch black to find Corazon’s hand and resting it on the older man’s thumb. “Lami hated Invisible Black the most too.”

Corazon then covered that small hand, cracking a grin as he replied, “A kindred spirit.”

“Her solemn accusation was that Invisible Black would definitely be invincible when playing hide-and-seek, and that’s unfair.”

“That’s true. And could probably also peeking at other people’s answers during an exam.”

“Lami…never had taken any exams.”

Now Corazon just wanted to punch himself right in the face. Why is he always like that?

“She’s lucky, though.” Law repositioned himself, nestling between the man’s long legs and leaning back against his stomach. “I don’t mind biology or math exams, but I hate history.”

“How come? I think history is pretty interesting to me.”

Then, Corazon learned that the compulsory education history textbooks in Flevance hadn’t been updated for nearly a decade, full of outdated and boring illustrations, exercises, and example questions. He also found out that although Law’s father was a general practitioner, he hated dentistry the most, especially treating children’s teeth; Law’s mother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite—she had a magical way of coaxing all children onto the dental chair and keeping them still for forty-five minutes. During festivals, a ‘balloon scam’ was popular among Flevance’s vendors, which worked every time on kids with extra pocket money (though Law avoided admitting it, Corazon guessed he must have been scammed at least once). One of Lami’s classmates had the full-color edition of the entire Sora, Warrior of the Sea comic series, and she kept pestering for a set as her birthday gift. Although Law didn’t mention whether she got the comics at last, Corazon pretty much guessed what the ending was.

Actually, they had been traveling all day long and should have been utterly exhausted. Yet Law just kept talking—vividly describing, intermittently recalling, passionately venting. Corazon thought the kid wouldn’t get sleepy for the night, and he himself certainly wouldn’t either. The night was so long, but Law’s life was so short. After a certain syllable fell, this kid, who showed no sign of being already thirteen years old, could no longer think of anything else to say. So, Corazon slowly helped him take off his hat and pressed a light kiss, almost lighter than a single black feather from his coat, on the damp ends of Law’s black short hair. “And then? After the nun’s parrot flew away, did it come back?”

“…It never came back.”

“That’s good, perhaps. Flying far away, suitable for a free little bird.”

“But it was only eight months old at the time…could it survive?”

“Who knows.” He tightened the hold around the younger one in his arms, whose breath was growing slower and shallower. “I think it will.”

He only received steady, peaceful breaths as an answer.

“Definitely will.” And so he replied to these breaths.