膚色非界限，超越黑與白

Shortly after we adopted our youngest child， a friend of ours 1）proffered that she didn’t think white people should adopt black kids.

She wasn’t being racist， at least not white racist， because she is African-American. She thought that taking him out of Haiti and immersing him in an all-white culture would destroy his identity as a black person and rob him of his culture.

When I went down to pick him up from the orphanage in a dusty quarter of 2）Port-au-Prince， he had a chronic eye infection that caused tears to stream from one eye and his nose ran continuously. His breathing came in raspy， wheezing gulps as if he couldn’t get enough air， and he 3）hacked like an old man who had been smoking all his life.

He ate 4）ravenously， picking every 5）kernel of rice from around the plate after he had polished the plate itself clean. At first， we would have to tell him to stop eating. He didn’t know how and would continue until his stomach was round and hard. Eventually， after much hands-on practice， he learned to stop on his own， but the impulse remains strong in him， the 6）compulsion to eat as much food as he can before it runs out.

A few weeks after he came home to live with us， my wife pulled a long white 7）tapeworm from his diaper， put it in a jar and triumphantly marched into the doctor’s office. “There，” she said. “I told you he had 8）parasites.” We all had to ingest 9）megadoses of antibiotics in case the parasites had spread to us.

The antibiotics did the trick. From that point on， our son grew stronger and healthier. The wetness in his eye disappeared， perhaps as a side effect of the drugs or perhaps because the air where we lived was cleaner than that surrounding the orphanage.

When he was about 3， I was tucking him into bed and he said， “When I turn white， I’m going to take the school bus with the other kids.”

I smiled down at him and said， “When you turn white？” He nodded his head， his eyes bright and hopeful. I let him say that for a while and then one evening， I put my hand softly on his chest and told him what I think he already knew but was hoping， magically， might be otherwise.

“You are a beautiful black boy， and one day you will be a handsome black man.”

“I’m not going to turn white？”

“No.”

He 10）scrunched his face and turned away from me， burying his head in the pillow.

On the bus one Saturday morning， he was perched on the back seat waving at the cars behind us when a young black man came and sat beside him. “Hey there，” the young man said， and there was a quiet 11）mirth in his eyes as they roamed from my son to me and then back again.

The look in my son’s eyes changed the 12）tenor of our silent conversation. It switched from laughter to 13）glacial in an instant， and it was more than just a child’s 14）reticence toward a stranger.

I had seen it before. About a year after his arrival in our home， we took him to a picnic in 15）Trois-Rivières hosted by the adoption agency. The woman who ran the orphanage in Port-au-Prince was there and when my son saw her， he let out an 16）ethereal 17）wail and buried his head in my shoulder， his fingernails cutting deep into my skin.

Other times， he would simply ignore black people when they came up to him on the street， a look of icy determination on his face as if he were steeling himself against something. Normally he is warm and 18）gregarious with a 19）preternatural ability to befriend others.

On a warm summer night when he was about 4， I sat down on the edge of his bed. “You know，” I said， “when you were a little boy， you had a very painful experience that hurt you badly right here，” and I tapped on his chest over his heart. I told him about his birth mother and how much she loved him， and how much he loved her， and how one day she walked him up the hill to the orphanage and left him there because she didn’t have enough money to buy food for him. And she never came back.

This is probably the most 20）excruciating pain you will ever experience in your life， I told him， using words that he would understand. It is a very， very big 21）owie. And it happened in a world where everyone was black. “I wonder if every time you see a black person， it makes you feel that sharp pain deep inside of you， and you turn away.” He stared up at me with dark， 22）soulful eyes and I knew he understood. “It is normal，” I said. “It hurts so much.”

A few weeks later， we were in line at 23）Costco， and my son was in the cart crouched between 24）bulging bags of milk and boxes of cereal. It was a long queue and at the end of it was a young woman whose skin was as dark and rich and brown as that of my son. “You see that cashier，” I said. “She’s going to be all over you and I want you to be nice to her. You remember what we talked about.”

He nodded his head. When it was our turn， he allowed her to coo over him， over his beautiful eyes， over his dimples that flash inward when he smiles， and it was the first time I saw him open the door a crack and allow himself to acknowledge his familiar reflection in the face of a stranger bound to him by nothing more than colour.

在我們收養(yǎng)了我們最小的孩子之后不久，一位朋友提出質(zhì)疑，她認(rèn)為白人不應(yīng)該收養(yǎng)黑人小孩。

她并非種族歧視，至少她不是白皮膚的種族歧視者，因?yàn)樗且粋€(gè)非裔美國人。她認(rèn)為，把那個(gè)男孩從海地帶走，讓他沉浸在一個(gè)全白人的文化世界里，會摧毀他作為黑人的身份，剝奪他的種族文化。

當(dāng)我去到海地太子港，從那所位于邋遢塵灰之地的孤兒院將他接走時(shí)，他患有慢性眼疾，導(dǎo)致他一只眼睛不停流淚，鼻子也不停流涕。他大口大口的呼吸總是帶著刺耳的喘息聲，就像空氣吸入不足似的，他還像個(gè)老頭那樣咳個(gè)不停。

他吃起飯來狼吞虎咽，在把盤子里的菜吃光舔凈后還會撿起周圍的米粒吃掉。起初，我們不得不叫他別吃了。他不懂得停下來，總是一直吃到肚子圓鼓鼓又硬邦邦的。最后，經(jīng)過多次親身實(shí)踐，他學(xué)會了自己停止進(jìn)食，然而想吃的沖動在他的體內(nèi)依然強(qiáng)烈，那是一種在食物匱乏之前強(qiáng)迫自己盡可能多吃的沖動。

他過來跟我們住了幾個(gè)星期之后，我的妻子從他的尿片上抽出一條又長又白的絳蟲，放進(jìn)一個(gè)罐子里，得意洋洋地踏進(jìn)醫(yī)生的辦公室?！敖o，”她說?！拔以缇透阏f過他長寄生蟲?！蔽覀兯腥硕疾坏貌怀韵麓罅康目股?，以防被傳染到寄生蟲。

抗生素發(fā)揮了作用。從那個(gè)時(shí)候起，我們的兒子長得越來越強(qiáng)壯，越來越健康。他的眼睛不再流眼淚了，這也許是藥物的副作用，也或許是我們所居住的地方的空氣，比孤兒院周圍的空氣要干凈得多。

當(dāng)他快到三歲時(shí)，有一天我在幫他掖被子，他說：“等我變白了，我要跟其他小孩一起乘校車?！?/p>

我低著頭，對著他微笑，說道：“等你變白了？”他點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)頭，眼里閃爍著希望的光芒。我由著他這么說了一段時(shí)間，然后有一天晚上，我把手輕輕地放在他的胸口上，告訴他一些我覺得他已經(jīng)知道但卻希望也許會出現(xiàn)奇跡般逆轉(zhuǎn)的事情。

“你是一個(gè)漂亮的黑人小孩，有一天，你會成為一個(gè)帥氣的黑人男子漢?！?/p>

“我不會變白嗎？”

“不會?！?/p>

他緊緊地縮起臉蛋，轉(zhuǎn)過頭不想被我看到，把頭埋在枕頭底下。

某個(gè)周六上午，在公交車上，他坐在后座上朝著我們后面的那輛小轎車招手。這時(shí)，一個(gè)年輕的黑人走了過來，坐在他旁邊?！澳愫冒?，”年輕人說，當(dāng)他的雙眼在我和兒子之間來回游移時(shí)，眼中有一種無言的歡樂。

兒子的眼神改變了我們無聲的對話。那眼神一瞬間將歡笑轉(zhuǎn)為冷漠，而這遠(yuǎn)超過一個(gè)孩子對于陌生人的沉默。

我以前見過這個(gè)場景。在他來到我們家大概一年后，我們帶他去三河城參加一個(gè)由領(lǐng)養(yǎng)機(jī)構(gòu)組織的野餐活動。打理太子港那所孤兒院的女士也在其中，當(dāng)我的兒子看到她時(shí)，他發(fā)出一聲輕輕的哀號，把腦袋埋進(jìn)我的肩膀，他的指甲深深地掐著我的皮膚。

有些時(shí)候，在街上，他干脆直接無視那些走過來跟他打招呼的黑人。他臉上那種冷酷決然，就像要讓自己變得堅(jiān)不可摧以對抗某種東西。而平常，他是個(gè)熱情合群，能輕松自然地結(jié)交朋友的孩子。

兒子約四歲時(shí)的一個(gè)溫暖夏夜，我坐在他的床邊?！澳阒?，”我說，“當(dāng)你還是個(gè)小寶寶的時(shí)候，你曾經(jīng)有過一段痛苦的經(jīng)歷，深深地傷透了這里，”我點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)他的胸部——心臟的位置。我給他講，其親生母親是多么地愛他，而他也深深地愛著她。我也講述了有一天他的母親是如何帶著他走到山上的那所孤兒院，把他留在了那里，只因?yàn)樗龥]有足夠的錢為他購買食物。那次之后，她再也沒有出現(xiàn)過。

我用他能理解的詞句告訴他，這也許將會是你一生中最痛苦的經(jīng)歷。這是一個(gè)很大很大的傷口。而且它發(fā)生在一個(gè)周圍全是黑人的世界里?！拔以谙?，會不會每次你看到黑人，內(nèi)心深處那股強(qiáng)烈的刺痛就會激起，然后你才故意避開?！彼媚请p黑色的充滿感情的眼睛望著我，我知道他聽懂了?！斑@很正常，”我說?！疤戳??！?/p>

幾個(gè)星期后，我們在好市多超市排隊(duì)等候，我的兒子坐在購物車?yán)铮榭s在鼓鼓的袋裝牛奶和一盒盒的麥片中間。隊(duì)伍很長，而隊(duì)伍的末端是一位年輕女士，皮膚跟我的兒子一樣郁黑發(fā)亮?！澳憧纯茨俏皇湛顔T，”我說?！八赡芎芟矚g你，我希望你能對她友善一些。你應(yīng)該記得我們談過的話吧?！?/p>

他點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭。當(dāng)輪到我們結(jié)賬時(shí)，她對他呢喃低語，贊美他美麗的眼睛和那對笑起來會往里凹陷的小酒窩，孩子都坦然接受了。這是我第一次看到他將心門打開一道縫隙，在一個(gè)僅與他有著相同膚色的陌生人面前，接納自己熟悉的映照。