A Plate of Peas一碟豌豆

My grandfather died when I was a small boy， and my grandmother started staying with us for about six months every year. She lived in a room that doubled as my father’s office， which we referred to as “the back room.” She carried with her a powerful aroma. I don’t know what kind of perfume she used， but it was the double-barreled， ninety-proof1， knockdown， render-the-victim-unconscious， moose-killing variety. She kept it in a huge atomizer and applied it frequently and liberally. It was almost impossible to go into her room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the house to go spend six months with my Aunt Lillian， my mother and sisters would throw open all the windows， strip the bed， and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend several days washing and airing things out， trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.

我小的时候外公就去世了，自那以后外婆每年会在我家待上六个月左右。她的房间是父亲办公室的两倍大，我们称之为“后屋”。她浑身散发着一股浓郁的香气，用的是哪种香水不得而知，但那种气味非常强烈，就像45度的双桶陈酿闻之即倒，人被熏晕，驼鹿被熏死。她把这玩意装在一个巨型香水喷瓶里，时不时地想喷就喷点。进她房间后几乎不可能保持呼吸。每当她离开我家去莉莲姨妈家待上六个月，我母亲和姐姐们就会赶快推开所有窗户，扯下床单，撤下窗帘和地毯；然后，她们会用上好几天洗洗晒晒，拼命想驱散那股刺鼻的气味。

This， then， was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.

这就是我外婆，让我颜面尽失的豌豆事件发生的时候，她就住在我家。

It took place at the Biltmore Hotel， which， to my eight-year-old mind， was just about the fanciest place to eat in all of Providence2. My grandmother， my mother， and I were having lunch after a morning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak3， confident in the knowledge that beneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When brought to the table， it was accompanied by a plate of peas. I do not like peas now. I did not like peas then. I have always hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily eat peas. I did not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants. And I certainly was not about to eat them now. “Eat your peas，” my grandmother said.

事情发生在比尔特莫尔酒店，在年方八岁的我看来，那是全普罗维登斯最棒的饭店了。一上午购物之后，外婆、母亲和我去那儿吃午饭。我装模作样地点了一份索尔兹伯里牛排，满心以为这个花哨名字之下就是一种淋着肉汁的老式美味汉堡牛肉。结果，和牛排一起端上桌的还有一碟豌豆。我现在不吃豌豆，那时也一样。我一直讨厌豌豆。我完全不理解竟然有人会愿意吃这种食物。不论在家还是去餐厅，我都不吃豌豆，当时自然也不打算吃。“把豌豆吃了。”外婆对我说。

“Mother，” said my mother in her warning voice. “He doesn’t like peas. Leave him alone.”

“妈，”母亲的声音带着提醒意味，“他不喜欢吃豌豆，别管他了。”

My grandmother did not reply， but there was a glint in her eye and a grim set to her jaw that signaled she was not going to be thwarted. She leaned in my direction， looked me in the eye， and uttered the fateful words that changed my life： “I’ll pay you five dollars if you eat those peas.”

外婆没回应，但她眼中精光一闪，下巴一绷，显示出她不打算让步。她朝我探过身，直视我的眼睛，说出了那句改变我一生的重要的话：“你要是把那些豌豆都吃掉，我就给你五美元。”

I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was an enormous， nearly unimaginable amount of money， and as awful as peas were， only one plate of them stood between me and the possession of that five dollars. I began to force the wretched things down my throat.

我对即将到来的厄运一无所知。我只知道五美元是一笔巨款，数目大到我几乎难以想象。尽管豌豆很恶心，但挡在我和五美元之间的就一小碟而已。我开始强迫自己把那些可怕的东西咽下去。

My mother was livid. My grandmother had that self-satisfied look of someone who has thrown down an unbeatable trump card4. “I can do what I want， Ellen， and you can’t stop me.” My mother glared at her mother. She glared at me. No one can glare like my mother. If there were a glaring Olympics， she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.

母亲脸色铁青。外婆志得意满，如同扔出了一张必胜王牌。“我要做的事情就会做到，埃伦，你阻止不了我。”母亲瞪着她的母亲，也瞪着我。没人能像我母亲那样瞪眼。如果举办瞪眼奥运会，她毫无疑问会赢得金牌。

I， of course， kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous， and every single pea made me want to throw up， but the magical image of that five dollars floated before me， and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother handed me the five dollars with a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the episode ended. Or so I thought.

当然，我还在拼命往喉咙里填豌豆。母亲的瞪视让我紧张，每一颗豆子都让我想吐。然而五美元纸币的样子如有魔力般在眼前浮现，我终于把最后一颗咽下去了。外婆动作夸张地把五美元递给我。母亲依旧沉默地瞪视着。这个小插曲就算结束了，至少我当时以为这样。

My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian’s a few weeks later. That night， at dinner， my mother served two of my all-time favorite foods， meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with them came a big， steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas， and I， in the very last moments of my innocent youth， declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped a huge pile of peas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.

几周后，外婆去了莉莲姨妈家。那天晚餐，母亲做的是我百吃不厌的食物——烘肉卷和土豆泥。一起端上桌的还有一大碗冒着热气的豌豆。她要给我舀一些，而我拒绝了，在我那无邪年少时光的最后时刻。母亲边把一大堆豌豆舀到我的餐碟上，边用冷酷的眼神盯着我。她之后说出的话在我心中萦绕多年，无法忘记。

“You ate them for money，” she said. “You can eat them for love.”

“你之前能为钱吃下它们，”她说，“现在就能为爱吃下它们。”

Oh， despair！ Oh， devastation！ Now， too late， came the dawning realization that I had unwittingly damned myself to a hell from which there was no escape.

哦，完蛋了！哦，惨透了！那一刻我才顿悟：不知不觉中，我将自己打入了无路可逃的地狱——但为时已晚。

“You ate them for money. You can eat them for love.”

“你之前能为钱吃下它们，现在就能为爱吃下它们。”

What possible argument could I muster against that？ There was none. Did I eat the peas？ You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter. The five dollars were quickly spent. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But the legacy of the peas lived on， as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are served （because， after all， I still hate the horrid little things）， my mother repeats the dreaded words one more time： “You ate them for money，” she says. “You can eat them for love.”

我能想出什么反驳的理由吗？不能。我吃豌豆了吗？当然吃了。不仅那天我吃了，以后每次端上桌的豌豆我都吃了。五美元很快就花完了，外婆几年后也去世了，但豌豆事件的影响一直持续到现在。只要我对饭桌上的豌豆撇撇嘴（因为我怎么着都还是讨厌这可怕的小东西），母亲就会再次重复那句让我生畏的话：“你之前能为钱吃下它们，”她说，“现在就能为爱吃下它们。”

（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者）

1 proof为美制酒精度，90-proof即标准酒精度45°。

2普罗维登斯，美国罗得岛州首府。 3索尔兹伯里牛排，以牛绞肉制成，外观与牛排极为相近，通常油煎或烧烤，还会搭配牛排酱或肉汁。

4 trump card王牌，一副扑克牌里最大的牌，可以通吃。