圣誕晚餐

“但是骨子里你必須永遠做中國人。你必須為自己的與眾不同而驕傲。如果你因為身為中國人而覺得羞恥，這才是最讓人羞恥的……”

I fell in love with the minister’s son the winter I turned fourteen．He was not Chinese．For Christmas I prayed for this blonde-haired boy，Robert，and a slim new American nose．

When I found out that my parents had invited the minister’s family over for Christmas Eve dinner，I cried．What would Robert think of our shabby Chinese Christmas?What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked proper American manners?What terrible disappointmentswould he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese food?

On Christmas Eve I saw my mother had outdone herself in creating a strange menu．She was pulling black veins out of the backs of fleshy prawns．The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food：A slimy rock cod with bulging eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into the pan of hot oil．Tofu，which looked like stacked wedges of rubbery white sponges．A bowl soaking dried fungus back to life．A plate of squid，their backs crisscrossed with knife markings so they resembled bicycle tires．

And then they arrived－the minister’s family and all my relatives in a clamor of doorbells and rumpled Christmas packages．Robert grunted hello，and I pretended he was not worthy of existence．

Dinner threw me deeper into despair．My relatives licked the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table，dipping them into the dozen or si plates of food．Robert and his family waited patiently for platters to be passed to them．My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish．Robert grimaced．Then my father poked his chopsticks just below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat．“Amy，your favorite，”he said，offering me the tender fish cheek．I wanted to disappear．

At the end of the meal my father leaned back and belched loudly，thanking my mother for her fine cooking．“It’s a polite Chinese custom to show you are satisfied，”explained my father to our astonished guests．Robea was looking down at his plate with a reddish face．The minister managed to muster up a quiet burp．I was stunned into silence for the rest of the night．

After everyone had gone，my mother said tome，“You want to be the same as American girls onthe outside．”She handed me an early gift．It was a miniskirt in beige tweed．“But inside you must always be Chinese．You must be proud you are different．Your only shame is to have shame．”

And even though I didn’t agree with her then，I knew she understood how much I had suffered during the evening’s dinner．It wasn’t until years later—long after I had gotten over my crush on Robert—that I was able to fully appreciate her lesson and the purpose behind our particular menu．For Christmas Eve that year，she had chosen all my favorite foods．

14歲那年的冬天我喜歡上了牧師的兒子。他不是中國人。整個圣誕節(jié)，我都在為這個長著金發(fā)的男孩祈禱，他的名字叫羅伯特，長著一個很別致的、纖細的美國式鼻子。

當我得知父母邀請了牧師一家到家里來吃圣誕晚餐時，我哭了。如果羅伯特看到了我們寒磣的中國式圣誕，他會怎么想?他會怎么看待我那些鬧哄哄的、缺乏美國式教養(yǎng)的親戚們?當他看到的不是一只烤火雞和甜馬鈴薯而是“中國菜”時，會多么失望啊!

圣誕節(jié)前夜，我看到母親竭力地準備著一些奇怪的菜式。她拔出了肉蝦背部的沙線。廚房里亂糟糟地堆滿了驚人的大量的生鮮食物：一條黏乎乎的石斑魚雙眼外凸，仿佛正在哀求不要被扔到熱油鍋里；豆腐看上去像楔狀的白色橡膠海綿；干蘑菇浸泡在一碗水里面泡發(fā)；一盤魷魚的背部切著十字花刀，狀如自行車輪胎。

然后，他們來了——牧師一家和我所有的親戚——伴隨著一陣喧鬧的門鈴聲和一堆皺巴巴的圣誕節(jié)禮盒。羅伯特咕噥著打了個招呼，而我裝著沒看見他。

晚餐讓我更加絕望。親戚們舔著筷子，然后在飯桌上伸來伸去，在一堆盤子里夾菜。羅伯特和他的家人則耐心地等待著人們將大淺盤遞給他們。當母親端出清蒸魚時，親戚們很高興，低聲評價著。羅伯特做了一個鬼臉。這時我父親用他的筷子伸到魚眼部位，夾出了魚眼下面的鰓邊軟肉，“阿美，你最喜歡吃的!”他一邊說，一邊把嫩魚肉夾給我。那一刻，我真恨不得馬上消失。

晚餐快結(jié)束時，父親傾著身子，一邊大聲地打著飽嗝，一邊感謝母親的好廚藝?！氨硎緷M意是中國式的禮貌?！备赣H向詫異的賓客解釋著。羅伯特紅著臉，低頭盯著他的盤子。牧師則設(shè)法不讓自己的飽嗝發(fā)出聲音。而我則很吃驚，在接下來的時間里一直保持著沉默。

待客人都走光了以后，母親對我說：“你想在外表上與美國女孩子一樣?！彼f給我一份提前的禮物。那是一條米色的斜紋軟呢迷你裙?！暗枪亲永锬惚仨氂肋h做中國人。你必須為自己的與眾不同而驕傲。如果你因為身為中國人而覺得羞恥，這才是最讓人羞恥的?！?/p>

盡管那時我并不同意她的話，但我知道她了解我當天晚餐時有多痛苦。直到多年以后，我不再喜歡羅伯特了，才真正感激母親給我上的那——課和那份特別的菜譜后面的目的。那一年的圣誕前夜，她挑選了我最喜歡吃的所有食物。

(劉雅蘋推薦)