第三章 回收Chapter Three · Reclamation
回收的程序夷光做過上百次，閉著眼睛都能做。
把儀器貼上對方的太陽穴，問三個問題，讓對方一邊回答一邊想起那段要交出去的記憶。記憶在被想起的瞬間最亮，那也是城市要的東西。想起，然後被取走，然後那個人就會輕一點。
她做了上百次，從來沒有想過第一個問題該怎麼問一個她自己也在那段記憶裡的人。
「妳記得的最早一件事，是什麼？」她照著程序問，聲音盡量平。
母親想了很久。儀器上的光，隨著她的回想一點一點變強，把整個小房間照得發白。
「妳很小的時候，」母親說，「城停過一次電。整座城，全黑。所有人都怕，因為沒有人記得黑是什麼樣子。」
夷光的手停住了。這段記憶她也在裡面，可是她從來不知道，因為這正是要被交出去的那一段。
「那時候妳問我，」母親的眼睛閉上了，光卻更亮，「『媽，燈會回來嗎？』」
「我說會。」
「然後我抱著妳，在全黑裡面，唱了一首沒有名字的歌，唱到妳睡著。城那天沒有亮，可是妳睡得很好。」母親笑了，這一次笑得很快，「夷光，那是我這輩子，最不需要城幫我記住的一件事。所以我可以給它。」
儀器發出完成的聲音。
房間恢復昏暗。母親還坐在那裡，但已經很輕很輕了，輕到夷光知道，下一陣從走廊吹進來的風，就會把她帶走。
夷光沒有按下確認鍵。
她把儀器從母親的太陽穴上拿下來，貼到自己的太陽穴上。
「妳做什麼——」
「換我記。」夷光說。她的聲音不抖了。「城要的是有人記得。它沒有規定，要記得的人是誰。」
外面，不知道為什麼，有一格燈，亮了起來。
Yiguang had performed the reclamation procedure a hundred times. She could do it with her eyes closed.
Press the instrument to the other person's temple, ask three questions, and let them answer while remembering the memory they were about to surrender. A memory burned brightest in the instant it was recalled — and that was what the city wanted. Remember it, then have it taken, and afterward the person would feel a little lighter.
She had done it a hundred times, and never once had she wondered how to ask the first question of someone who stood inside the memory beside her.
"What is the earliest thing you remember?" she asked, following the procedure, keeping her voice as level as she could.
Her mother thought for a long while. The light on the instrument grew stronger, little by little, as she remembered, until it washed the whole small room pale.
"When you were very small," her mother said, "the city lost power once. The whole city, gone dark. Everyone was afraid, because no one remembered what dark looked like."
Yiguang's hand went still. She was inside this memory too, yet she had never known it — for this was precisely the part that was meant to be surrendered.
"That was when you asked me," her mother said, her eyes closing now, though the light only grew brighter, "'Mama, will the lights come back?'"
"And I said they would."
"Then I held you, there in the dark, and sang a song with no name until you fell asleep. The city didn't come back on that night, but you slept well." Her mother smiled, and this time the smile came quickly. "Yiguang, that is the one thing in my whole life I least needed the city to remember for me. So I can give it away."
The instrument sounded its note of completion.
The room sank back into dimness. Her mother still sat there, but she had grown very light now — light enough that Yiguang knew the next gust of wind down the corridor would carry her away.
Yiguang did not press the confirm key.
She lifted the instrument from her mother's temple and pressed it to her own.
"What are you doing—"
"I'll remember it instead." Yiguang's voice no longer trembled. "The city wants someone to remember. It never said who that someone has to be."
Outside, for some reason, a single light came on.