A Mother in Mannville (Excerpt II)曼维尔镇的一位母亲（节选下）

玛·金·罗琳斯/文 熊婷/译

We watched the flames.

“Thats an apple log，” he said. “It burns the prettiest of any wood.”

We were very close.

He was suddenly impelled to speak of things he had not spoken of before， nor had I cared to ask him.

“You look a little bit like my mother，” he said. “Especially in the dark， by the fire.”

“But you were only four， Jerry， when you came here. You have remembered how she looked， all these years？”

“My mother lives in Mannville，” he said.

For a moment， finding that he had a mother shocked me as greatly as anything in my life has ever done， and I did not know why it disturbed me. I was filled with a passionate resentment that any woman should go away and leave her son. The orphanage was a wholesome place， the executives were kind， good people， the food was more than adequate， the boys were healthy， a ragged shirt was no hardship， nor the doing of clean labor. Granted， perhaps， that the boy felt no lack， what blood fed the bowels of a woman who did not yearn1 over this childs lean2 body that had come in parturition out of her own？ At four he would have looked the same as now. Nothing， I thought， nothing in life could change those eyes. I burned with questions I could not ask. In any case， I was afraid， there would be pain.

“Have you seen her， Jerry—lately？”

“I see her every summer. She sends for3 me.”

I wanted to cry out， “Why are you not with her？ How can she let you go away again？”

He said， “She comes up here from Mannville whenever she can. She doesnt have a job now.”

His face shone in the firelight.

“She wanted to give me a puppy， but they cant let any one boy keep a puppy. You remember the suit I had on last Sunday？” He was plainly proud. “She sent me that for Christmas. The Christmas before that”—he drew a long breath， savoring the memory—“she sent me a pair of skates.”

“Roller skates？”

My mind was busy， making pictures of her， trying to understand her. She had not， then， entirely deserted or forgotten him. But why， then— I thought， “I must not condemn her without knowing.”

“Roller skates. I let the other boys use them. Theyre always borrowing them. But theyre careful of them.”

What circumstance other than poverty—

“Im going to take the dollar you gave me for taking care of Pat，” he said， “and buy her a pair of gloves.”

I could only say， “That will be nice. Do you know her size？”

“I think its 8?，” he said.

He looked at my hands.

“Do you wear 8?？” he asked.

“No. I wear a smaller size， a 6.”

“Oh！ Then I guess her hands are bigger than yours.”

I hated her. Poverty or no， there was other food than bread， and the soul could starve as quickly as the body. He was taking his dollar to buy gloves for her big stupid hands， and she lived away from him， in Mannville， and contented herself with4 sending him skates.

“She likes white gloves，” he said. “Do you think I can get them for a dollar？”

“I think so，” I said.

I decided that I should not leave the mountains without seeing her and knowing for myself why she had done this thing.

The human mind scatters its interests as though made of thistle-down， and every wind stirs and moves it. I finished my work.

I made arrangements to close my Florida place. Mexico immediately， and doing the writing there， if conditions were favorable.

I did not take time to go to Mannville to see Jerrys mother， nor even to talk with the orphanage officials about her. I was a trifle abstracted about the boy， because of my work and plans. And after my first fury at her—we did not speak of her again—his having a mother， any sort at all， not far away， in Mannville， relieved me of the ache I had had about him.

He came every day and cut my wood and did small helpful favors and stayed to talk. The days had become cold， and often I let him come inside the cabin. He would lie on the floor in front of the fire， with one arm across the pointer5， and they would both doze and wait quietly for me. Other days they ran with a common ecstasy through the laurel， and since the asters were now gone， he brought me back vermilion maple leaves， and chestnut boughs dripping with imperial yellow. I was ready to go.

I said to him， “You have been my good friend， Jerry. I shall often think of you and miss you. Pat will miss you too. I am leaving tomorrow.”

He did not answer. When he went away， I remember that a new moon hung over the mountains， and I watched him go in silence up the hill. I expected him the next day. But he did not come. The details of packing my personal belongings， loading my car， arranging the bed over the seat， where the dog would ride， occupied me until late in the day. I closed the cabin and started the car， noticing that the sun was in the west and I should do well to6 be out of the mountains by nightfall. I stopped by the orphanage and left the cabin key and money for my light bill with Miss Clark.

“And will you call Jerry for me to say good-bye to him？”

“I dont know where he is，” she said. “Im afraid hes not well. He didnt eat his dinner this noon. One of the other boys saw him going over the hill into the laurel. He was supposed to fire the boiler this afternoon. Its not like him; hes unusually reliable.”

I was almost relieved， for I knew I should never see him again， and it would be easier not to say good-bye to him.

I said， “I wanted to talk with you about his mother—why hes here—but Im in more of a hurry than I expected to be. Its out of the question for me to see her now too. But heres some money Id like to leave with you to buy things for him at Christmas and on his birthday. It will be better than for me to try to send him things. I could so easily duplicate—skates， for instance.”

She blinked her honest spinsters eyes.

“Theres not much use for skates here，” she said.

Her stupidity annoyed me.

“What I mean，” I said， “is that I dont want to duplicate things his mother sends him. I might have chosen skates if I didnt know she had already given them to him.”

She stared at me.

“I dont understand，” she said. “He has no mother. He has no skates.”

我们注视着柴火的火势。

“这块柴是苹果树的，”他说，“烧起来最旺。”

我们俩挨得很近。

他突然忍不住提起一些他不曾说过而我也无意询问的事。

“你看起来有点儿像我妈妈，”他说，“尤其在暗处，炉火旁。”

“可是你来这里时才四岁，杰里。这么多年了，你还一直记得她的模样？”

“我妈妈就住在曼维尔镇。”杰里说。

得知他母亲还在世，我一时间感到从未有过的震惊，不知为何这个消息令我心神不宁。竟然有女人能忍心抛下自己的儿子扬长而去，我为此感到忿忿不平。这家孤儿院环境有益孩子健康成长，管家都很亲善，食物富足，孩子们身体也都挺好——衣服是有些破旧，还得干些打扫卫生的活儿，但称不上生活艰苦。就算杰里可能没觉得缺少什么，可他的母亲究竟得有多么狠心，才能不想念自己怀胎十月生下的瘦弱孩子？杰里四岁时的模样多半和现在无异。没有什么，我想，生活中没有什么能改变那双眼眸。我急切地想问他一些问题，但难以开口。我怕无论怎样都会触及他的痛处。

“杰里，你见过她吗——最近见过吗？”

“我每个夏天都会见她。她会派人来接我。”

我真想大喊：“那你为什么不和她生活在一起？她怎么忍心又放你走了呢？”

他说：“妈妈一有机会就会从曼维尔镇赶过来。现在她没有工作。”

他的脸庞在火光的照耀下闪闪发光。

“妈妈想送我一只小狗，但管家不让我们小孩儿养。你还记得我上周日穿的衣服吗？”他显然很骄傲，“那是她给我的圣诞礼物。之前的那个圣诞——”说到这儿他长吸一口气，沉浸在回忆中，“——她送了一双冰鞋给我。”

“旱冰鞋？”

我拼命思索着，在脑海里竭力描绘她的样子，并试图理解她的做法。看来她并没有彻底抛弃或遗忘杰里。可为什么……随后我想：“在沒弄清缘由前，我绝不能责怪她。”

“是旱冰鞋。我还给其他孩子穿了。他们总借，不过都很小心。”

除了贫穷，还能有什么其他苦衷……

“我要用帮你照顾帕特挣来的工钱，”他说，“给妈妈买一副手套。”

我只能附和道：“这主意不错。你知道她的尺码吗？”

“我猜是八号半。”他说。

他瞧着我的手。

“你是戴八号半的手套吗？”他问。

“不是。我的尺码小一些，是六号。”

“哦！我猜她的手比你大一些。”

我痛恨她。无论贫穷与否，果腹的除了面包还有其他东西，而灵魂会同肉体一样很快感到饥饿。杰里盘算着花钱给他妈妈粗笨的大手买副手套;他妈妈却抛下他，就住在曼维尔镇，不过送他一双旱冰鞋就心安理得了。

“她喜欢白色的手套，”他说，“你觉得花一美元能买到吗？”

“沒问题。”我回答道。

我打定主意要在离开这里之前见她一面，弄明白她抛下杰里的原因，也算给自己一个交代。

人们的注意力总是会被各种事物分散，就像蓟种子冠毛，来一阵风就能吹动、吹散它。我完成了手上的工作。

我计划安排搬离佛罗里达的居所，立即前往墨西哥，如果条件不错，就在那里继续写作。

我没有抽空去曼维尔镇见杰里的母亲，甚至都没和孤儿院的管家们谈及她。由于忙着工作和筹划，我对杰里的事不是太上心。那次谈话使我第一次对杰里的母亲心怀愤恨，此后我们再未提及过她。杰里好歹是有母亲的，而且她就生活在不远的曼维尔镇，这让我感到些许欣慰。

杰里每天过来，帮我砍柴，帮些小忙，然后留下来聊聊天。天气逐渐转冷，我经常邀请他来屋内坐坐。他便躺在炉火前的地板上，一只手搭在帕特身上，和帕特一起打着瞌睡，静静等我工作完。有时候，他们会在月桂树丛中欣喜地穿梭玩闹。那时紫菀花已凋零，他便会带给我火红的枫叶和通体金黄的粗栗枝。终于，我准备离开了。

我对他说：“杰里，你一直都是我的好朋友。我会常常想到你、念着你，帕特也是。我明天就要走了。”

他缄默不语。记得他离去时，一轮新月遥挂山顶，我望着他默默向山上走去。第二天我一直盼着他，可他并没有来，那一整天我都在打理各种琐事——打包行李，装车，在车座上给帕特布置好小窝——一直忙到傍晚。我关上木屋大门，发动汽车，注意到已是夕阳西下，而我得在夜幕降临前驶离山区。途中我经过孤儿院，把木屋钥匙和电费钱交给了克拉克小姐。

“我想和杰里告个别，能帮我叫一下他吗？”

“我不知道杰里在哪儿，”她说，“不过恐怕他现在状态不太好。他中午没吃饭。有个孩子看到他翻过山丘进了月桂树丛。今天下午本该他烧锅炉的。这可不像他了，他做事非常靠谱。”

听到这个，我竟松了口气，因为知道不会和杰里再见面了，不当面告别会更好受些。

我对克拉克小姐说：“我本来想找你谈谈有关杰里母亲的事——为什么他母亲会把他送到这里——不过我目前的行程比预期的紧。我现在也不可能去见他的母亲了。这儿有些钱，我想麻烦你在圣诞节和杰里生日时给他买些礼物。这会比我自己寄给他强，因为我很有可能买重样，比如又送一双旱冰鞋给他。”

这位老姑娘眨了眨眼，诚实地看着我。

“在这大山里旱冰鞋可不太实用。”她说。

她可真愚蠢，我为之恼怒。

“我的意思是，我不想送他妈妈送过的礼物。要不是听说杰里的母亲已经给过他一双旱冰鞋，我也可能会挑旱冰鞋送他。”我说。

她注视着我。

“我不明白你的意思。”她说，“他没有妈妈，也没有旱冰鞋。”