邊界那頭的陌生人

The other day， while visiting a furniture store， I met a worker who looked Indian. But when I told him I was from India， he revealed he was from 1)Pakistan. At that point， I had no choice: I grabbed a chair and chased him around the store， shouting， “Death to the Pakistani!”

Actually， it didn’t go quite like that. Security was tight， so I waited until his 2)shift ended and followed him home， where I 3)deflated his tires， 4)raided his refrigerator， and tattooed the words “I love India!” all over his body. Who said tattoos serve no purpose?

OK， I admit it: I didn’t go that far. All I did was shake his hand and smile. We had a rather friendly chat. I didn’t ask if any of his relatives were terrorists. He didn’t ask if any of mine were 5)infidels. We didn’t even insult each other’s mother-in-law.

He stated that the 6)Kashmir dispute shouldn’t create any 7)ill will between us. “Yes，” I said. “After all， India and Pakistan were once the same country. We are like family， you and I. That reminds me: Does this store offer any family discounts?”

If it were up to us， the border between India and Pakistan would be eliminated. Of course， if that happened， the country would have to look for a new enemy， so people in the military could keep their jobs. Gotta keep the economy going.

It’s a funny thing about borders—how they divide people， how they create 8)enmity and envy， how they give travelers the occasional thrill of being 9)strip-searched.

Borders often seem so 10)arbitrary， so illogical， like a British monarch delegated the task of drawing borders to his pet monkey. And yet we take them so seriously. We act like the people across the border are so different from us.

Fifty-year-old man: “They’re crazy， those people across the border. They speak a strange language and play strange games. Crazy， I tell you.”

Wife: “Oh， be quiet. You really shouldn’t 11)speak ill of the Canadians. They’re just like us. Nice people.”

I’ve often wondered what America would be like if every state were an independent country. It would be virtually impossible to travel from 12)Nevada to 13)Utah.

Border officer: “You’re from 14)Las Vegas? What， may I ask， do you want in Utah? There’s no gambling here， you know. No 15)prostitution either. We don’t even allow 16)bingo.”

Traveler: “I’m visiting my parents. They live just across the border.”

Officer: “Visiting your parents? I don’t believe it. It’s not Christmas yet. Sorry， I can’t let you through. If you want to enter Utah， you’ll have to hide in a barrel like everyone else.”

I like the Internet because it crosses borders so easily， brings people of different countries together. People in almost any country can read my column; people in almost any country can send me hate mail. I love hearing from Pakistanis as much as anyone else.

In major American cities， you will find Indians and Pakistanis doing business side by side， some operating stores with names like South Asia 17)Boutique， Indo-Pak Groceries and Indo-Pak Sweets No Disputes. You may even spot them at the local park， playing a few 18)innings of cricket—laughing and shouting and ignoring the strange looks from passers-by. There’s no border between these people. I hope there never is.

前幾天逛家具店的時候，我碰見了一個貌似印度人的工作人員。可是當(dāng)我跟他說我是印度人時，他卻透露他是巴基斯坦人。在那一刻，我毫無選擇:我抓起一張椅子，一邊追著他滿店跑，一邊大喊:“巴基斯坦人去死吧!”

事實上，事情的發(fā)展不是那樣的。安保很嚴(yán)密，所以我等他下班后跟蹤他回家。我放掉他車子的輪胎氣，打劫他家冰箱，然后在他身上紋滿“我愛印度”的字樣。是誰說紋身毫無用處的?

好了，我承認(rèn):我沒有做得那么過分。我只是跟他握了握手，并報以微笑。我們挺友好地聊了一會兒。我沒問他有沒有哪個親戚是恐怖分子，而他也沒問我有沒有哪個親戚是異教徒。我們甚至沒有侮辱彼此的岳母(編者注:指互相謾罵)。

他表示我們之間不能因為克什米爾爭端而心生芥蒂。“是的，”我說，“畢竟印度和巴基斯坦曾經(jīng)屬于同一個國家，我們就像一家人一樣。這倒提醒我了:這家店有沒有親屬優(yōu)惠折扣呢?”

如果是由我們做決定，印度和巴基斯坦之間的邊界就不會存在了。當(dāng)然，那樣的話，國家又不得不去尋找新的敵人了，這樣軍隊里的人才能保住飯碗。總得讓經(jīng)濟(jì)發(fā)展下去。

邊界是很有趣的——將人們分隔開，制造敵對和妒忌，還偶爾給旅客帶來遭受裸體搜身的震懾。

邊界通常看起來都很隨意，不合邏輯，劃分邊界的任務(wù)就像是哪個英國君王讓他的寵物猴來完成似的，而我們卻如此認(rèn)真地對待這樣的邊界。我們表現(xiàn)得好像邊界另一邊的人跟我們?nèi)绱隋漠悺！?br>