家

格溫德琳·布魯克斯

What had been wanted was this always， this always to last， the talking softly on this porch， with the snake plant2 in the jardinière3 in the southwest corner， and the obstinate4 slip from Aunt Eppies magnificent Michigan fern5 at the left side of the friendly door.

Mama， Maud Martha， and Helen rocked slowly in their rocking chairs， and looked at the late afternoon light on the lawn and at the emphatic6 iron of the fence and at the poplar tree. These things might soon be theirs no longer. Those shafts7 and pools of light， the tree， the graceful iron， might soon be viewed passively by different eyes.

Papa was to have gone that noon， during his lunch hour， to the office of the Home Owners Loan. If he had not succeeded in getting another extension， they would be leaving this house in which they had lived for more than fourteen years. There was little hope. The Home Owners Loan was hard. They sat， making their plans.

“Well be moving into a nice flat somewhere，” said Mama. “Somewhere on South Park， or Michigan， or in Washington Park Court8.” Those flats， as the girls and Mama knew well， were burdens on wages twice the size of Papas. This was not mentioned now.

“Theyre much prettier than this old house，” said Helen. “I have friends Id just as soon9 not bring here. And I have other friends that wouldnt come down this far for anything， unless they were in a taxi.”

Yesterday， Maud Martha would have attacked her. Tomorrow she might. Today she said nothing. She merely gazed at a little hopping robin in the tree， her tree， and tried to keep the fronts of her eyes dry.

“Well， I do know，” said Mama， turning her hands over and over， “that Ive been getting tireder and tireder of doing that firing. From October to April， theres firing to be done.”

“But lately weve been helping， Harry and I，” said Maud Martha. “And sometimes in March and April and in October， and even in November， we could build a little fire in the fireplace. Sometimes the weather was just right for that.”

She knew， from the way they looked at her， that this had been a mistake. They did not want to cry.

But she felt that the little line of white， sometimes ridged10 with smoked11 purple， and all that cream-shot saffron12 would never drift across any western sky except that in back of this house. The rain would drum with as sweet a dullness nowhere but here. The birds on South Park were mechanical birds， no better than the poor caught canaries in those “rich” womens sun parlors.

“Its just going to kill Papa！” burst out Maud Martha. “He loves this house！ He lives for this house！”

“He lives for us，” said Helen. “Its us he loves. He wouldnt want the house， except for us.”

“And hell have us，” added Mama， “wherever.”

“You know，” Helen sighed， “if you want to know the truth， this is a relief. If this hadnt come up， we would have gone on， just dragged on， hanging out here forever.”

“It might，” allowed Mama， “be an act of God. God may just have reached down and picked up the reins13.”

“Yes，” Maud Martha cracked14 in， “thats what you always say that God knows best.”

Her mother looked at her quickly， decided the statement was not suspect15， looked away.

Helen saw Papa coming. “Theres Papa，” said Helen.

They could not tell a thing from the way Papa was walking. It was that same dear little staccato16 walk， one shoulder down， then the other， then repeat， and repeat.

They watched his progress. He passed the Kennedys， he passed the vacant lot， he passed Mrs. Blakemores. They wanted to hurl themselves over the fence， into the street， and shake the truth out of his collar. He opened his gate—the gate—and still his stride and face told them nothing.

“Hello，” he said.

Mama got up and followed him through the front door. The girls knew better than to go in too.

Presently Mamas head emerged. Her eyes were lamps turned on.

“Its all right，” she exclaimed. “He got it. Its all over. Everything is all right.”

The door slammed shut. Mamas footsteps hurried away.

“I think，” said Helen， rocking rapidly， “I think Ill give a party. I havent given a party since I was eleven. Id like some of my friends to just casually see that were homeowners.”

真想這一刻永遠、永遠都不要停止。一家人坐在門廊，輕聲閑聊，氣氛融洽。門廊西南角的花盆里，虎尾蘭生機勃勃。家門口左側種了一根蕨枝，倔強地挺立著，那根枝條是從埃皮姨媽種的一堆漂亮的密西根蕨里剪枝插種的。

媽媽、莫德·瑪莎和海倫三人，慢悠悠地搖著各自的搖椅。她們看著灑落草坪的霞光、顯眼的鐵柵欄和那棵楊樹。但這些可能很快就不再屬于他們了。這一束束余暉和一片片霞光、那棵楊樹和雅致的鐵柵欄，在別人眼里可能又是另一番模樣。

爸爸中午就出去了。他趁著吃午飯的當口，到業(yè)主貸款公司辦公室去了。如果他不能再次延長還貸期限，他們家今天就得搬出去。他們已經在這座房子里住了超過14年。延期還貸的希望渺茫，房貸公司可不是那么容易對付的。她們三人坐在一起，聊的就是搬家計劃。

“我們將搬到某個地方去住漂亮的公寓?！眿寢屨f，“要么搬到舊金山的南部公園，要么搬到密西根州的什么地方，要么搬到華盛頓公園街?！惫媚飩兒蛬寢屝睦锒记宄?，就算爸爸掙得比現(xiàn)在多一倍，也租不起那些公寓。但此刻這話她們誰也沒有說。

“那些公寓可比現(xiàn)在這座老房子漂亮多了。”海倫說道，“有些朋友，我寧愿不帶到這兒來。還有些朋友，不打車是絕不會跑這么遠過來的。”

要是在昨天，莫德·瑪莎一定會駁斥海倫，或許明天也會。但今天她什么也沒有說。一只知更鳥在樹上跳來跳去，莫德·瑪莎只是盯著小鳥和她的那棵樹，盡力不讓眼淚流下來。

“嗯，這我知道?！眿寢屢贿呎f，一邊把手心手背翻給兩個孩子看，“我越來越討厭生火了。從今年10月開始，到明年4月，每天都得生火才行?！?/p>

“但是，我們最近一直都在幫你啊，哈里和我都在幫你?！蹦隆が斏f，“3月、4月、10月，甚至在11月，壁爐里可以生些小火，有時候天氣不是特別冷，生小火剛剛好?！?/p>

望著媽媽和海倫看她的眼神，她知道自己說錯話了。她們不想哭。

但她意識到，再也看不到有時中間泛著煙熏紫灰色的那一縷白煙了。那一片奶油花般的橘黃色霞云飄過西邊天空的景象，也只有在他們家屋后才能看到。或許，也只有在這里，滴滴答答的雨點沉悶卻悅耳。而南方公園里那些機械鳥，也不比那些被“富”婆們關在陽光充足的客廳里可憐的金絲雀好到哪里去。

“那一定會要了爸爸的命！”莫德·瑪莎突然說，“他愛這座房子！這個家是他的命根子！”

“我們才是他的命根子。”海倫說，“他愛的是我們。如果不是為了我們，他才不會要這座房子呢?！?/p>

“沒有了房子，他還有我們，”媽媽補充道，“無論在哪兒。”

“知道嗎，”海倫嘆了一口氣，“如果你們想聽真話，這或許是種解脫。如果不是貸款到期了的話，我們的生活還將是老樣子，我們會永遠困在這兒，哪兒都去不了?！?/p>

“這有可能，”媽媽表示同意，“就是上帝的安排。上帝可能剛剛伸出手，掌控一切?！?/p>

“是啊！”莫德·瑪莎聲音嘶啞著插嘴，“這不正是你一直掛在嘴邊的話嗎——上帝知道什么是最好的?！?/p>

媽媽急忙瞥了她一眼，覺得這話沒錯，便扭頭看向了別處。

海倫看見爸爸走過來?！鞍职只貋砹?！”她喊道。

她們從爸爸走路的姿態(tài)看不出什么來。他還是邁著小步，一步一頓，雙肩隨著腳步不斷地一起一落。

她們看著爸爸一步步走來。他走過肯尼迪家，走過那塊空地，走過布萊克摩爾夫人家。她們多想跨過鐵柵欄，沖上街，抓著他的領子不?；蝿樱f出真相。他打開他家的門——那扇大門——從他的步態(tài)和他的表情上，還是什么都看不出來。

“哈啰?！彼麊柫寺暫?。

媽媽站起來，跟著他進了前門。姑娘們知道，自覺地沒有跟進去。

一會兒，媽媽的腦袋伸出門外，她的眼睛炯炯有神。

“沒事了?！彼蚬媚飩冃迹八k成了，都結束了。一切都好?！?/p>

門“砰”一聲地關上了。媽媽匆匆離開。

“我想，”海倫一邊飛快地晃動搖椅，一邊說，“我想辦一次聚會。11歲以后，我就一直沒有辦過聚會了。我想請些朋友來玩，順便讓他們知道我們家有房子。”

（譯者單位：綿陽師范學院）