願望
新來的女孩，中文名字唸起來會讓人舌頭打結。她看起來大概十三歲——對神燈精靈來說，碰上這個年紀的主人，真是倒楣透頂。都多久了？這女孩到現在還沒許願。精靈從神燈的通氣孔往外看，只見她朝四個角落磕頭，嘴裡念念有詞，說些什麼平行宇宙、螢火蟲之類的鬼話。她好像認定，非得來一套繁複的儀式，才召喚得了他。精靈數了數，她足足磕了五十個頭，才終於乖乖照著神燈使用手冊上的步驟操作。
「噢，精靈，我的精靈，」她一邊說，一邊擦著神燈圓滾滾的燈身，「快出來！」
精靈咬緊牙關，準備挨這一下。接著，他被倒著從神燈壺嘴吸了出去——尾巴先，頭最後——被一把甩出了神燈。即使過了幾千年，他還是不習慣這種疼痛。他用大手掌頂住天花板，穩住身子，等那陣頭暈過去。慢慢地，眼前的東西對上了焦點：粉紅色，黏人又愛抱怨的粉紅色。從床罩、枕頭、壁紙到窗簾，都是粉紅色，連女孩本人也穿著一套粉紅色運動服，站在窗邊，抱著一隻大貓熊布偶。窗外是高樓層層疊疊、霓虹燈閃個不停的城市。這裡是中國嗎？精靈不知道自己是怎麼來到這裡的，他也不在乎。只要女孩一許完願，就說再見，永遠不見。
女孩伸長了脖子打量他。她皺著眉，好像嫌他赤裸的胸膛和鼓起的粗手臂很可笑，他穿的金色燈籠褲很蠢，而他煙霧狀的尾巴（沒有腿！）不倫不類。就連他皮膚的寶藍色映在她黑色的眼睛裡，都顯得黯淡又骯髒。精靈很想用一根手指推她一下，看著她從五樓自由落體摔下去。
「女孩，準備好許願了嗎？」他懶得叫她的名字，反正到頭來，他也會把她忘掉，就像他忘了以前所有的主人一樣。那些人許的願望全都老掉牙：不是黃金，就是名聲，再不然就是一顆像牛一樣強壯的心臟。
女孩不理他，自顧自地坐到床上，拿著放大鏡研究自己的毛孔。
精靈看得見她臉頰上的每一根絨毛、像一條條細小毛毛蟲的玫瑰色微血管，還有她鼻子上那塊淡淡的、蠑螈形狀的胎記。看著她年輕臉上這些小小的瑕疵，他忽然有點不自在：自己那身均勻得過分的藍色，擺在這滿屋子的粉紅色裡，顯得格格不入。
「說我很美，」女孩一邊要求，一邊梳著她長到腰際、閃亮的黑色直髮。
他看得出她知道自己很美。他回答：「神燈精靈的工作是實現願望，不是負責灌心靈雞湯。你只要許個願，我就可以讓你變美！」
她瞇起眼，看穿了他想騙她趕快許願的伎倆。
房門外，她媽媽喊她吃早餐，嗓門比播著股市新聞的電視還大聲。她媽媽整天不是叫她吃早餐，就是午餐，或是晚餐。這個媽媽好像只在乎吃飯這件事。
「我不餓！」女孩大喊。
精靈跟著女孩走到客廳，得把龐大的身子整個縮起來，才擠得過門框。
她媽媽正要出門，穿著一件顏色鮮豔、毛茸茸的冬季大衣。她媽媽看不見精靈。大多數人都看不見他，因為被「自己是命運主人」這種幻覺蒙住了眼睛。精靈代表的是一個令人不舒服的真相：運氣，不過是一隻冷漠的手隨便抽出來的籤。少數幸運的人幾乎不用付出什麼，就能得到大筆財富或名聲，或是一出生，就有一副像屠夫家的狗一樣強壯的胃。
「乖女兒，幫我把信封封起來？」
她媽媽走向電梯，細跟高跟鞋喀啦喀啦。電梯叮了一聲，往下降。女孩鎖上兩道金屬門，外門有鐵欄杆，內門沒有。
女孩一屁股癱進餐椅：「坐啊。」
「這是你要許的願望？」嚴格說來，這種瑣碎的命令不算許願。但是精靈已經被她磨得沒有耐性了。
女孩回答：「這不是我的願望，這只是我的請求。」
精靈看了看那張單薄的餐椅，決定還是直接一屁股坐在冰冷的磁磚地上。就算坐著，他的大頭還是高高聳在女孩上方，煙一樣的尾巴捲成一圈，盤在身前。
餐桌的轉盤上堆著一疊信。女孩一轉轉盤，那疊信就四散飛開。她學遊戲節目主持人的口氣宣布：「現在，進入……回覆媽媽《中國第一小三電子報》讀者來信的時間！」
她隨便撿起一封信，倒出信紙，大聲唸出內容。「『親愛的王太太：我老家的男朋友跟我求婚了，可是有個官員說要在城裡買一間公寓給我。我該怎麼選擇？』」
「你覺得呢？」女孩問精靈，挑起一邊眉毛。
精靈心想，也許可以拐她許願要一隻小狗？
「來，看看我媽媽怎麼回答：『親愛的讀者，有錢就有自由。您別害怕自由。買我的影音課程，第一課教您怎麼開香港的銀行帳戶。』」
女孩封好信封，然後非常戲劇化地啪一聲貼上郵票。「下一封信！」
「『親愛的王太太：我老闆還養了另外三個小三。我要怎麼抓住他的心？』」
「『親愛的讀者，中國人說，老牛吃嫩草。您要好好保養，外表永遠保持成他二十歲時想要的那種女朋友。出門一定要撐著一把陽傘，不然的話，就考慮整形。』」「下一封信！」
「『親愛的王太太：我懷孕了！』」
「『親愛的讀者，您要趕快躲起來，讓他沒辦法逼您墮胎。如果是男孩，就要求一筆優渥的和解金。如果是女孩，就祈禱您能拿到一筆優渥的和解金。』」
女孩鬆開手，任那封信飄落到地上。她終於玩膩了這個遊戲。沉默了很久之後，她說：「你知道嗎，人生只要有一件小事不一樣，你就根本不會存在？」
精靈的運氣真衰。中國有十幾億人，他偏偏卡在這個女孩身上——而她想要的，正好是他給不了的……
（全文收錄於即將出版的短篇小說集《每個故事都有人死亡》）
English original
The new girl’s name is a mouthful of Chinese. She looks about thirteen, unlucky for Genie. It’s been—how long now?—and the girl still hasn’t made her wish. Through the vent holes of the magic oil lamp, Genie watches her kowtow to four corners while chanting nonsense about parallel universes and fireflies. She seems to have decided that she needs an elaborate ritual to summon him. Genie counts fifty kowtows before she follows the actual instructions.
“O Genie, my Genie,” she says, wiping the lamp’s hollow belly. “Come out!”
Genie winces. Then he is sucked tail to head into the lamp’s spout and hurtled out. Even after thousands of years this still hurts. He presses his meaty palms against the ceiling to stop his head from spinning. Slowly, his vision coalesces: pink. Needy, whiny pink. Bedspread, pillows, wallpaper, curtains, and the girl herself, in a pink tracksuit, hugging a stuffed giant panda by a window that frames a city of cascading high-rises and glowing neon signs. China? He doesn’t know how he got here and he doesn’t care. As soon as the girl makes the wish, it’s zaijian and never again.
The girl cranes her neck to take him in. She frowns, as if she finds his naked chest and bulging arms ridiculous, his golden balloon shorts silly, and his smoky tail—no legs!—pointless. Even the sapphire blue of his skin reflects back from her dark eyes flat and dirty. He wants to push her with one finger and watch her free-fall down five stories.
“Girl, ready to make your wish?” he says, not bothering with her name, because eventually she too will be forgotten, like all the other masters with their same-old, same-old wishes for gold, fame, or a heart as strong as an ox’s.
She ignores him and sits on her bed to study her pores with a magnifying mirror.
He can see every bit of peach fuzz on her cheeks. The fine, rosy caterpillar veins. The faint salamander-shaped birthmark on her nose. Her youthful imperfections make him self-conscious of the uniform blueness of his skin, the wrong color among all this pink.
“Say I’m beautiful,” she says and combs her shiny black hair, straight to the waist.
He can tell she already knows that. “I grant wishes, not affirmations,” he says. “Do you wish to be beautiful?”
She squints, seeing through his ploy.
Outside the girl’s bedroom, her mother shouts above a TV tuned to the Shanghai Stock Exchange, calling her for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Meals seem to be the one thing the mother cares about a lot.
“Not hungry!” the girl yells.
Genie follows the girl to the living room, sucking in the oversized everything of him to squeeze through the doorway.
The mother is heading out, her winter coat bright and furry. She can’t see Genie. Most people can’t, blinded by the illusion that they are the master of their destiny. He bears the unsavory truth that luck is a random draw by an apathetic hand, and very little is required of a lucky few to attain great wealth or great fame or a stomach as strong as a butcher’s dog’s.
“Good daughter, seal the envelopes for me?”
The mother’s stilettos click-clack to the elevator, which chimes before it descends. The girl locks two metal doors, one with bars and one without.
“Sit,” the girl says and slumps in a dining chair.
“You wish?” Technically speaking, he is not allowed to count trivial commands. But.
“Just a request.”
He decides against the flimsy dining chair and plops down on the cold tile floor, his large head towering over the girl, his smoky tail curlicued on his lap.
The girl spins the lazy Susan of the dining table with a pile of letters. As the letters fly, she announces like a game show host, “Iiiiiiit’s time to answer readers of Mother’s…China Number 1 Mistress Newsletter!”
She dumps a letter out and reads it aloud. “‘Dear Mrs. Wang: My hometown boyfriend proposed, but an official offered to buy me an apartment in the city. What should I do?’”
“What do you think?” the girl asks and raises an eyebrow.
Genie thinks, maybe he can get the girl to wish for a puppy?
“Let’s see what Mother says. ‘Money is freedom. Don’t be afraid of freedom. Take my video course. The first lesson teaches you how to open a Hong Kong bank account.’”
The girl seals the envelope and slaps on a stamp dramatically. “Next!”
“‘Dear Mrs. Wang: My boss keeps three other mistresses. How do I capture his heart?’”
“‘The Chinese say, old oxen chew young grass. Be the girlfriend he wanted when he was twenty. Carry a parasol always and plastic surgery is an option too.’ “Next!”
“‘Dear Mrs. Wang: I’m pregnant!’”
“‘Hide so he can’t force you to get an abortion. If it’s a boy, demand a generous settlement. If it’s a girl, pray that you get a generous settlement.’”
The girl lets the letter drop, at last tired of her game. After a long silence, she says, “Do you know if just one little thing was different, you wouldn’t exist at all?”
Just his luck. Of the billion people in China, he is stuck with someone who wants something he cannot give.
(Continued…in upcoming short story collection “Someone Dies in Every Story”)