《送病》中的现实主义精神
文/子路
一、拂晓
1976年秋天，拂晓时分，福建崇武半岛。曾锦德在山路上看见了一群惠安女，抬着担架，往县城医院去。
二十公里山路。四到六个小时。
他站在路边，看着她们走过。多年后他写道：“七十年代，交通和医疗十分落后，疾病和阶级斗争两把利刃悬在民众的心口，天灾人祸交织一起，民不聊生！这是居住在崇武半岛惠安女与死神抗争的严肃场面：她们戴着花头巾，穿着阔大裤管的服装，抬着担架中的亲友重病患者往县城医院赶路。我热泪盈眶地面对这一群三k党打扮无依无靠的天使，她们要步行二十公里，才能到达人民的‘医院’喘一口气！”
《送病》，1976年，水墨设色，纸本，33x34cm
二、秋天
画面上是秋天。
树叶黄了，风吹过，叶子在枝头晃。拂晓的光透过来，叶子就亮了，一闪一闪。
树从山丘后面奋力向上生长。近处的草木也都是秋天的样子，蓬松，率意地长着。
曾锦德画这些的时候，笔触恣肆、灵动。他就是画秋天，一个拂晓，有雾，有光，树叶黄了。
这就是那天早晨的样子。
三、光
拂晓的太阳刚升起来，透过树林洒下来，山路铺上柔和的金色。
朦胧的远山还罩在晨雾里，淡蓝色，清冷。
那群惠安女，就在这光里。
她们在逆光的位置，身影是暗的，形成剪影。身体的轮廓看得很清楚——弯着腰或挺着胸，扛着担架。白色的头巾很醒目，形状如尖顶帽，向上。
阳光从她们身后照来，在地上投下斜长的影子。身影与投影，如箭向前。
四、二十公里
1976年，崇武半岛到县城，二十公里。没有车，没有公路，有病了就只能这样——找几个人，扎一副担架，抬着，轮流扛。
四到六个小时，看路况，看人的体力。
曾锦德写道：“交通和医疗十分落后，疾病和阶级斗争两把利刃悬在民众的心口，天灾人祸交织一起，民不聊生。”
那时候的农村，病重了就是这样，赤脚医生看不了的，就得去县城。担架上的人在颠簸中熬着，抬担架的人肩膀酸痛，汗湿透衣服。家里 人跟着，心里忐忑——能不能到？到了能不能看得起病？看了能不能治好？
画面上，那群惠安女步伐不快，但很稳。一个接一个，排成一列。
她们的脸看不清，逆光的剪影，只看得到轮廓。
五、三K党
曾锦德说她们像“三K党打扮”。
三K党，美国那个臭名昭著的种族恐怖组织。白色尖顶头罩，是恐怖的象征。
但你看画面，确实有点像。
惠安女的头巾包法特殊，布料在头顶形成尖角。一群人走在一起，那些白色尖角排成一列，在暗色的背景里很醒目。从视觉上看，确实和三K党的头罩有某种相似。
救人的人，善良的人，在那个处境里，在那种贫困和落后里，连救人都变得如此艰难。不是人可怕，是处境可怕。
那些白色尖角，在画面上一个接一个，向前。
六、热泪盈眶
曾锦德说：“我热泪盈眶地面对这一群无依无靠的天使。”
无依无靠——她们没有交通工具，没有现代医疗，没有保障。在那个时代的农村，重病了就只能这样，靠自己，靠亲人，靠肩膀和脚。
病人需要送医院，那就送。没有交通工具，那就扛着，别无他法。几个人，一副担架，一条山路，二十公里。
曾锦德站在路边看着，几个普通人，在做她们能做的事。
七、天地间的交响
这幅画像一场天地间的交响乐，有光明就有黑暗，有悲哀有希望。
秋天的清晨，明媚的阳光洒遍大地——这是欢快的乐章。
步履艰难的惠安女，弯曲的身体，简陋的担架，漫长的路途——这是沉重的乐章，像命运交响曲那种沉重。
两个声部同时在响。
大自然有四季枯荣，人有悲欢离合，各有各的节奏。
但两者并不冷漠对待彼此。秋天的光照在那些惠安女身上，温暖的，真实的。树木在她们身后向上生长，沉默地见证。大地承载着她们的脚步，实实在在。
人在自然里受苦，但也在自然里得到支撑。光在那里，路在那里，空气可以呼吸，脚下的土地可以踩，这些都是真实的给予。
虽然苦，但不是绝望的苦；虽然难，但不是绝境的难。
人就在这里面，在秋天里，在光里，在自己的苦难里，一步一步。
美的东西在，苦的东西也在。光在那里，阴影也在那里。希望在前面，苦难在当下。都真实。
八、走
贫困，落后的医疗，二十公里的距离，简陋的担架。这些都是既定的。
命运给的，改变不了。
不等，不怨，不问为什么，就是扛起来，走。
肩膀会酸，汗会流，路还很长。
生活中有苦难、失败和不幸，也有欢乐、成功和希望——这就是命运。
人不能听从命运的安排，应该掌握自己的命运，与厄运抗争。
贝多芬说：我要扼住命运的咽喉。那群惠安女可能不知道贝多芬，不知道《命运交响曲》，不知道什么“扼住命运的咽喉”。但她们在做同样的事。
命运说：你们没有车。她们说：那我们就走。
命运说：二十公里很远。她们说：那我们就一步一步走。
命运说：这很难，很累，可能走不到。她们说：但我们还是要走。
这就是扼住命运的咽喉，不是战胜了命运——病还是病，二十公里还是二十公里，担架还是简陋的担架。但人没有被命运击倒。人在命运给的困境里，用自己的方式，走出去。
《送病》画的就是这个。不是苦难的展示，是人的肯定。肯定人在苦难中没有倒下，肯定人在困境中依然前行。
那些白色的尖角向上。
这就是人对命运的回答。
九、1976
1976年，唐山大地震，四人帮被抓。整个国家在巨大的震荡中。
但在崇武半岛，在那个秋天的清晨，生活还在继续。
有人病了，要送医院，邻居们就扎副担架，抬起来。
这就是那个时代的底层生活。没有什么历史意义，没有什么宏大叙事，就是具体的、琐碎的、艰难的日常。
曾锦德看见了，画下来了。没有戏剧化的处理，没有夸张的情绪，就是如实记录。
那个秋天，那个清晨，那群人，那副担架——都真实发生过。
十、行走的纪念碑
画面有一种凝固感。
队伍在往前，但整个画面是凝固的。树木、雾气，连那些摇曳的树叶都像是定格在某一刻。时间停住了。
一个瞬间，被固定下来。
1976年秋天那个清晨，那群惠安女，她们抬着担架走向县城医院。
曾锦德为那些惠安女立了一座行走的纪念碑。不是因为她们是英雄，就是因为她们是普通人，在那个艰难的年代，做了她们该做的事。
这个碑立在那里。安静，朴素，有重量。
结语
近五十年过去了。
那个秋天的清晨凝固在画面上。树叶还是那样黄，光还是那样照着，人还是那样在路上。
两个声部一起响。
大自然有四季枯荣，人有悲欢离合。
这幅画就在那里。
安静，朴素，真实。
像一座碑。
曾锦德当年站在路边，看着她们走过。
今天我们站在画前，看到的是同一个瞬间。
一步一步。
——
Witnessing Suffering: The Realist Spirit in Zeng Jinde’s “Sending the Sick”
I. Dawn
Autumn 1976, at daybreak, Chongwu Peninsula, Fujian. Zeng Jinde saw a group of Hui’an women on the mountain path, carrying a stretcher toward the county hospital.
Twenty kilometers of mountain roads. Four to six hours.
He stood by the roadside, watching them pass. Years later he wrote: “Tears welled up in my eyes…”
II. Autumn
The painting shows autumn.
The leaves had turned yellow. The wind blew, and the leaves swayed on the branches. Dawn light filtered through, and the leaves brightened, flickering.
Trees grew vigorously upward from behind the hills. The nearby grass and shrubs were autumn too—fluffy, growing freely.
When Zeng Jinde painted these, his brushstrokes were bold and fluid. He was just painting autumn. A dawn, with mist, with light, with yellowed leaves.
That was what the morning looked like.
III. Light
The dawn sun had just risen, shining through the forest, laying soft gold on the mountain path.
The distant mountains were still shrouded in morning mist, pale blue, cold.
Those Hui’an women were in this light.
They were in a backlit position, their figures dark, forming silhouettes. Their body outlines were clear—bent at the waist or standing straight, carrying the stretcher. The white headscarves were striking, shaped like pointed caps, pointing upward.
Sunlight came from behind them, casting long shadows on the ground. Figures and shadows, like arrows, moving forward.
IV. Twenty Kilometers
In 1976, from Chongwu Peninsula to the county seat was twenty kilometers. No vehicles, no roads. When someone fell ill, this was the only way—find several people, tie together a stretcher, carry it, take turns bearing the weight.
Four to six hours. Depending on road conditions, on people’s stamina.
Zeng Jinde wrote in his diary: “Transportation and medical care were extremely backward. Disease and class struggle—two sharp blades hanging over the people’s hearts. Natural and man-made disasters intertwined. Life was unbearable.”
That’s what rural areas were like then. What barefoot doctors couldn’t treat had to go to the county. The person on the stretcher endured the jolting. Those carrying felt shoulder pain, sweat soaking through clothes. Family members followed, hearts uneasy—would they make it? If they made it, could they afford treatment? If treated, could they be cured?
In the painting, those Hui’an women moved with steady steps, not fast but firm. One after another, in a line.
Their faces couldn’t be seen. Backlit silhouettes, only outlines visible.
V. The KKK
Zeng Jinde said they looked like “KKK outfits.”
The KKK—that notorious American terrorist organization of racial hatred. White pointed hoods, symbols of terror.
But looking at the painting, there was indeed a resemblance.
Hui’an women’s headscarf wrapping was distinctive, the fabric forming points at the top. A group walking together, those white points in a line, striking against the dark background. Visually, there was indeed some similarity to KKK hoods.
Those who saved lives, kind people, in that circumstance, in that poverty and backwardness, even saving lives became so difficult. It wasn’t the people who were terrible, it was the circumstance.
Those white points, one after another in the painting, moving forward.
VI. Tears Welling Up
Zeng Jinde said: “Tears welled up in my eyes facing this group of helpless angels.”
Helpless—they had no vehicles, no modern medicine, no security. In that era’s countryside, when seriously ill, there was only this way, relying on themselves, on family, on shoulders and feet.
A sick person needed hospital care, so they carried them. Twenty kilometers of mountain roads, so they bore the weight. No other way. No grand words, no slogans. Just a few people, one stretcher, one road.
Zeng Jinde stood by the roadside watching. Ordinary people, doing what they could do.
VII. Symphony Between Heaven and Earth
This painting is like a symphony between heaven and earth. Where there is light there is shadow, where there is sorrow there is hope.
An autumn morning, bright sunlight flooding the earth—this is the joyful movement.
Yet people suffered in this beauty. Struggling Hui’an women, bent bodies, crude stretcher, long journey—this is the heavy movement, heavy like Beethoven’s fate symphony.
Two voices sounding together.
Nature has its four seasons of flourishing and withering, humans have their joys and sorrows, each with their own rhythm.
But the two do not treat each other coldly. Autumn light fell on those Hui’an women, warm, real. Trees grew upward behind them, silently witnessing. The earth bore their footsteps, solid and real.
People suffered in nature, but also received support from nature. Light was there, the road was there, air to breathe, earth underfoot to step on. These were all real gifts.
So though bitter, it was not despairing bitterness. Though difficult, it was not impossible difficulty.
People were in this, in autumn, in light, in their own suffering, step by step.
Beautiful things existed, bitter things existed too. Light was there, shadow was there too. Hope ahead, suffering in the present. All real.
VIII. Walking
Poverty, backward medicine, twenty kilometers distance, crude stretcher. These were all fixed. Given by fate, unchangeable.
This was humanity’s answer. Not an answer in words, but an answer in action. Not waiting, not complaining, not asking why. Just shouldering the load, walking.
Each step required effort, each step bore weight. Shoulders would ache, sweat would flow, the road was still long.
In life there is suffering, failure and misfortune, but also joy, success and hope—this is fate. People cannot submit to fate’s arrangements, should grasp their own fate, struggle against adversity.
Beethoven said: I will seize fate by the throat. Those Hui’an women probably didn’t know Beethoven, didn’t know the “Fate Symphony,” didn’t know what “seizing fate by the throat” meant. But they were doing the same thing.
Fate said: You have no vehicle. They said: Then we’ll walk.
Fate said: Twenty kilometers is far. They said: Then we’ll walk step by step.
Fate said: This is hard, exhausting, you might not make it. They said: But we still must walk.
This was seizing fate by the throat. Not defeating fate—illness was still illness, twenty kilometers still twenty kilometers, the stretcher still crude. But people were not struck down by fate. People, in the predicament fate gave, used their own way to walk out.
This is what “Sending the Sick” painted. Not an exhibition of suffering, but an affirmation of humanity. Affirming that people did not fall in suffering, affirming that people still moved forward in adversity.
Those white points pointing upward.
This was humanity’s answer to fate.
IX. 1976
1976—Zhou Enlai died, Zhu De died, the Tangshan earthquake, Mao Zedong died, the Gang of Four arrested. The entire country in tremendous upheaval.
But on Chongwu Peninsula, that autumn morning, life continued.
Someone fell ill, needed hospital care. Neighbors tied together a stretcher, lifted it up.
This was the life of that era’s common people. No historical significance, no grand narrative. Just concrete, trivial, difficult daily life.
Zeng Jinde saw it, painted it. No dramatization, no exaggerated emotion, just truthful recording.
That autumn, that morning, those people, that stretcher—all truly happened.
X. A Walking Monument
The painting has a frozen quality.
The procession moves forward, but the entire painting is frozen. Trees, mist, even those swaying leaves seem fixed in a moment. Time stopped.
A moment, fixed.
That autumn morning in 1976, those Hui’an women, carrying the stretcher toward the county hospital.
Zeng Jinde erected a walking monument for those Hui’an women. Not because they were heroes, but because they were ordinary people who, in that difficult era, did what they had to do.
This monument stands there. Quiet, simple, weighty.
Epilogue
Nearly fifty years have passed.
That autumn morning frozen on the canvas. Leaves still that yellow, light still shining that way, people still on that road.
Two voices sounding together.
Nature has its four seasons of flourishing and withering, humans have their joys and sorrows.
This painting is there.
Quiet, simple, real.
Like a monument.
Zeng Jinde once stood by the roadside, watching them pass.
Today we stand before the painting, seeing the same moment.
Step by step.