青蛙王子(故事新编)

很久很久以前，有一只青蛙。当然，他是一个受了魔法的王子，因为普通的两栖动
物是上不了童话故事的。这只变了青蛙模样的皇室成员处在魔法的控制下，等着童
话中标准的公主出现。标准公主一定得是金发碧眼，当然不能是短发，也不能喜欢
读沙俄小说，或是有其它不够标准的特征。

一天，“捕虫王子”正坐在他的荷叶上，怀念他人模人样时的好日子时，一个真正
的公主正好来到，金发，碧眼，优雅，就是有点波大无脑。

这位“叉足王子”高兴地鸣叫道，“哇塞，我终于可以摆脱这个讨厌的形状。又可
以象以前那样欺负贫穷阶级，无礼对待陌生的神秘老妇人了。” (你还记得我们的
王子当初是怎样被变成青蛙的吧。)

一切如计划，公主开始在池塘边抛起她那宝贝金球来，但很快就玩累了。这玩意儿
也太重了。宫廷玩具设计师有一大把经费，就是他们的脑子太小。而且不辛的是(对
我们的青蛙王子来说)，这时公主的手机响起。于是她竟然离开了，根本没注意到荷
叶上那只叽叽喳喳鸣叫着的绿色小东西。

他拼命地在她后面跳跃着跟着，可是没什么用，她穿那种松糕鞋还跑得这么快。等
她到了宫殿门时他还离有一段距离。(任何识时务的青蛙王子都会住得离皇宫很近，
就好比那些想成名的好莱坞小星星们都聚挤在南加州那块地儿里)。他跳不进也挤不
进殿门，只好垂头丧气地在门口缩了一晚。到了第二天早上，他的皮肤开始干裂，
打喷嚏，脑海里不断地想起肥美的苍蝇。但他不想放弃希望，就继续无动于衷地坚
守原地。

到了第二天金发小傻瓜还没出现，青蛙王子还在撑着，犹豫着是应该先饿死，渴死，
还是晒死。他以前的皇室教师在生物课上教过他到底青蛙是先饿死渴死还是晒死，
不过他那时没认真听课。真后悔。他想回忆起关于青蛙的种种，但记起的只是那道
福马德林味。

当他准备彻底放弃，英勇就义，也好让我们的故事继续时，一只手把他拣了起来。

“咦，一只青蛙在这里做什么？”

他头脑晕乎乎地想，这不是那个金发公主。眼前的女郎看起来二十出头，有着一头
黑色发亮的头发，蜜色皮肤，短鼻子，也不算难看(不过她倒不喜欢沙俄小说，嫌太
沉重。当然，有谁不觉得沙俄小说沉重？) 王子很难为情地想，所有的人类在他看
起来样子都差不多。当然，公主除外，因为她们总是金发，而且支使人的声音也大
些。

“我是带魔法的王子！快把我带进宫里，让公主吻我，然后魔法就会消失了！”王
子哇拉哇拉地叫着，但声音出来只是哇拉哇拉的青蛙鸣叫。

“唉呀，你都快干死了。我把你放回水里吧。”那双手把他托着走，他则徒劳地大
叫“你别把我带离皇宫啊，你这个傻姑！”

他听到了水流声，只好闭着眼等着被随随便便地仍进去。但那双手把他举起来，被
一双明亮漆黑的杏眼审视着。“嗯，这个不知是不是。。。”她沉思着。人人都说
一个女孩得亲过许多青蛙，才能找到她的王子。她想，管它呢，就试一试8。

青蛙王子还没来得及眨眼时，一双鲜唇在他的尖鼻头轻轻拂过。魔术辟里啪拉地碎
了，变成人形的王子倒在草地上。(还是裸体的，他以前倒没想过这一点)。

尖叫声响起，不过他及时找到一张大棕叶来遮着。他站起来，上下打量她道“怎么
你看起来不象一位公主嘛。”

他的救命恩人哼了一声，“你自己也不怎么样。我以为王子都不超过25岁。看来书
上说的都不可信。”

他气愤地说，“你什么意思，我才二十----TMD，这什么鬼东西？”他低头看见自己
原有的六块腹肌变成了小腩肚。

她毫不留情地说，“不对！我看你二十好几了。”

他惊得下巴都快掉了下来，张了几次嘴都没说出话来。“可是，可是---我变成青蛙
才不过几星期啊。至多一个月！怎么回事？”

她耸肩无所谓地说，“这个么，因为青蛙活不久。可能就象狗年那样要换算成人年
吧。”

他一下子蔫了。“这下可好。这么说我不但不能跟公主搭上，还越变越老了？”

“非公主”皱皱短鼻子，不屑地说“老实告诉你吧，我听说她脾气很臭，还是破鞋。
你听了也可少伤心点。”

“那看来她当时应该不介意吻我一下了。”他呻吟着说。

“你就别烦了，你已经变回了人不是？”她抢白着说，不过看见他失落的样子又软
了下来。“好吧好吧，你来我这喝杯热茶，适应一下。还有，看在老天的份上，找
些衣服穿上吧，求你了。”

“茶？”他听了精神一振，“灰伯爵加牛奶和蜜糖？”

“我想我有half-and-half罢。”

后来呢，他了解到他的救命恩人是个书呆气重的电脑工程师(并且不怕碰滑溜溜的两
栖动物，你从上面的故事也了解到了)。王子也发现他倒也不介意短鼻子。起码，为
将来着想的话，生一大堆短鼻子的书呆小孩总比生一大堆又笨又刁的小崽子要好。

于是，“每个人都从此幸福地生活在一起”。至少大家都在朝这个方向尽量努力吧。

Note: the following English version might not correspond to the foregoing Chinese version verbatim. In the process of writing bilingually, I’ve become fully aware of and will always lament on the fact that the beauty of one language is sometimes lost when translated into another. As someone once said, "Translations are like women. The beautiful ones are unfaithful; the faithful ones, unbeautiful." Not that I would support such misogyny, but the quote is dead on about translation.

The Frog Prince---My Version of It

Once upon a time there was a frog. Naturally, he was really an enchanted prince, because fairy tales don't care about your average amphibian. Anyway, this little frog-shaped piece of royalty was under your standard enchantment, to be broken by a kiss from your standard princess, meaning she must be blonde with blue eyes and couldn't be short-haired or enjoy Russian literature or any nonsense like that.

As it so happened, one day while Prince Flyeater was sitting on his lily pad, trying to remember what it felt like to be higher up on the food-chain, one such character did conveniently arrive. She was a proper princess, with golden hair and bright blue eyes and a genteel air of inbred stupidity.

"Joy!" croaked Prince Webfoot, "I can finally be free of this wretched form, and go back to trampling the proletariat and being rude to mysterious old women." As you might remember, that was how our prince was turned into a frog in the first place.

As the story has it, the princess started tossing her precious golden ball by the pond, but quickly got tired of it. The damn thing was too heavy –the Royal Toymaker had a large budget but a small imagination. Unfortunately for our poor prince, the princess got a call on her Nokia, so she walked away from the pond, never noticing the small green critter gibbering on a nearby lily pad.

He hopped frantically after her, but to no avail. She was moving a lot faster on those platform heels than he'd thought, and had a lead that he couldn't quite close until she'd reached the palace gates. (All sensible enchanted frogs live within hopping distance of the nearest palace, for the same reason that star hopefuls live in southern California.) The gates were too high for him to jump and too tight for him to squeeze through. All night he crouched by the gates, miserable and dejected. By morning his skin was getting dry, even with the morning dew, he was starting to sneeze, and the thought of a juicy fat fly was disturbingly appealing. But he refused to give up hope, and remained stoically where he was.

By the end of the second day the little blonde twit still hadn't shown up, and he was still alive only because he couldn't decide whether to die of hunger, thirst, or exposure. His royal tutor had taught him in Biology which of the foregoing three came first, but he'd never paid attention to the royal tutor—a fact he later regretted. He tried to remember facts about frogs and all that came to mind was the smell of formaldehyde.

Just when he was about to give up and expire gracefully in the name of plot advancement, a hand picked him up.

"Hey. What's a frog doing all the way out here?"

It wasn't the blonde princess, he thought muzzily. The maiden in front of him looked to be in her early twenties; had a full head of shiny black hair, honey-tan skin, and a slightly short nose; and as a matter of fact wasn't exactly ugly. (However, she didn't enjoy Russian literature--she found it depressing and really, who doesn't?) It was a little embarrassing, but all humans looked more or less alike to him. Princesses, of course, tended to be a lot blonder. And louder.

"Take me inside the palace and tell the princess to kiss me, for I am a royal prince entrapped by a wicked enchantment, and her kiss will break the spell," he croaked. Or at least, he tried. What really came out was just a weak tongue flick.

"Oh no, you're all dried up. I'd better get you to a stream." The hands carried him somewhere while he raged ineffectually, "Not AWAY from the palace, you stupid fool!"

Finally he caught the sound of running water, but instead of being thrown unceremoniously in, he felt himself being lifted to eye-level to be under the scrutiny of a pair of dark, bright, almond-shaped eyes. "I wonder," the face that went with the hands said thoughtfully. They say you have to kiss many frogs before you find your prince. Oh, what the heck, she’d give it a try.

Before he could do much more than blink his bulging eyes, he felt a pair of fresh lips brush against his snout. He heard the shackles of magic burst, depositing him on the grass as a very human prince (and very naked, he'd never thought about that part).

A lot of shrieking went on at that point. But before the commotion died down he managed to find a large palm leaf to cover himself up. He stood up and said, "But you don't LOOK like a princess", sizing her up.

His rescuer snorted. "Well, you're not exactly all that either. I thought all princes were supposed to be no older than twenty-five. And you shouldn't believe everything you read."

"What do you mean," he asked indignantly, "I'm twenty---SHOOT! Where the hell did this come from?" he yelped, looking down at his slightly protruding gut. There used to be a six-pack there.

"Nope," she said critically. "I'd say around late-twenties."

His jaw dropped, and he worked it soundlessly for a few moments. "But--but! I was only a frog for a few weeks! A month, tops! What happened?"

She shrugged. "Well, frogs don't live as long as humans. Maybe it's like, you know, dog years."

He wilted. "Great. So now, not only am I not gonna hook up with a princess, but I'm also getting old?"

The non-princess wrinkled her slightly short nose. "Well, if it's any consolation, I've heard she's a real ???? and a notorious slut."

"She could've managed a kiss, then," he grumbled.

"Oh quit whining, you're human again, aren't you?" she snapped at him, but softened when his face fell. "Geez. Fine. Fine. Come in and have a cup of tea while you re-orient. And for Christ’s sake, put some clothes on."

"Tea?" he perked up at this. "Earl Grey with milk and honey?"

"I think I've got some half-and-half."

As it turned out, his rescuer was a nerdy computer engineer who didn't particularly mind touching slimy amphibians. And eventually, the prince found out that he didn't really mind short noses either. After all, he figured he’d rather have nerdy short-nose kids than dumb brats.

And so, everybody lives happily after. Or at least they try.