Meet the ParentsBy Mary Roach

何峰

My mother had a saying： “Guests are like fish. After three days they begin to stink.” Heres the thing about my mother， though. She never bought fresh fish. She bought frozen fish sticks， which she served us every Friday along with potato chips.

Heres the other thing about my mother. She never had guests. Only once in my childhood did someone from her or my fathers family stay overnight at our house. In my fathers case， it was because his family lived in England， and hed lost touch with them. In my mothers case， who knows. Maybe it was her cooking.

Im guessing the fish line must have been something her own mother said. I wouldnt know， because I only met my grandmother once. When I was five， we visited my mothers family for the first and last time. I cant remember any interaction with Grandma， or even if that was what we called her. I remember that Uncle Al had a farm with a hayloft to play in， and ripe strawberries that we could pick and eat until our bellies were bursting. I know Uncle George had a red-haired daughter named Cacky， whom I adored， and that Aunt Louise scolded my brother and me for twisting the chains on the swing set and spinning ourselves dizzy. And thats it： the sum total of my memories of my parents relatives. To this day， these people are strangers to me.

My husbands mother also has a saying： “We love you. When are we going to see you again？” Eds family—his parents and his sister and her husband and little girl—come to stay with us， or we with them， three or more times a year. When they visit， they all pile into our home， and when we go to Florida， we all pile into theirs. Neither place has a guest room， but both have sofas and floors， and thats fine.

The first time we went to visit， Eds parents insisted on giving us their bed. His dad slept on the lounge， and his mum took the love seat. We thought the love seat was a pullout sofa bed， but in the morning we found her with her legs hanging over the arm.

If anything could stink after three days， youd think that would， but as always， Jeanne couldnt bear to see us go.

Of course， I know what my mother meant. For the first three days of a visit， you are caught up in the joy and novelty of seeing one another. Youre busy catching up. It doesnt bother you that you have no time to yourself， that you have to wait to use the shower and have to drink coffee thats not made the way you like it. From day four onwards， theres a subtle shift. Youre running out of news and outings to pass the time and meals that everyone can happily eat. Patience begins to fray.

By day six， something as trivial as a coffee table water ring can seem like grounds for a military tribunal. You begin to view your guests through the magnifying glasses of the put-upon host. A TV set turned four decibels higher than you like registers as “blaring”. Making a 13-cent long-distance call is perceived as “running up my phone bill！”

Eds family often stays six or seven days. By the last day， I admit Im ready to have my home back to normal， to get dressed in the room? where my clothes live. Six rooms arent enough for five guests， but I blame the apartment for my feelings， not the guests. I dont want them to go after three days， I just want the building to get larger.

Ive come to love Eds relatives. I think of them as family in a way that I never thought of my own relatives. And I couldnt have these feelings about Ed s family if they didnt visit as often as they do， or if they stayed in a hotel and dropped by for meals. Family are people who live together—if only for a week at a time. Theyre people who drop towels on your bathroom floor， put your cups and glasses back in the wrong place and complain about your weather. You do it to them， they do it to you， and none of you would have it any other way.

母親常說：“客人就像魚，過了三天就要臭?！辈贿^，說到魚，有件事倒與母親有關(guān)，她從不買新鮮魚，她只買硬梆梆的冷凍魚。到了周五，她就將凍魚和炸土豆片一起做給我們吃。

還有件與我母親有關(guān)的事：她從沒來訪的客人。在我小的時候，只記得有一次不知是母親還是父親的親戚在我們家住了一夜。就我父親來說，那是因為他的老家在英格蘭，他與他們早已失去聯(lián)系。就我母親來說，誰知道呢，也許是因為她的廚藝的緣故吧。

我猜想母親關(guān)于魚的妙論一定是得自她自己母親的真?zhèn)?，但我無法確知這一點，因為我只見過外祖母一次。在我5歲的時候，第一次也是最后一次到母親的娘家走親戚。我已記不得與姥姥有什么接觸，我甚至都不記得我們是否這樣叫她。我記得艾爾舅舅有個農(nóng)場，有個干草堆我們可以在里面玩，還有成熟的草莓可以讓我們隨便采摘，直到吃得我們的肚子都要撐破了。我知道喬治舅舅有個紅頭發(fā)的女兒名叫凱基，我很喜歡她。我也知道我和哥哥將秋千架上的鏈條像擰繩子一樣扭來扭去，直到扭得我們自己天旋地轉(zhuǎn)的，露易絲舅媽還為這個責(zé)罵了我們。關(guān)于父母親戚的記憶我只有這些了。時至今日，他們對于我來說已經(jīng)形同路人。

我的婆婆也有她的說法：“我們愛你們，什么時候我們再來看你們？”艾迪的一家——他的父母以及他的姐姐、姐夫和小外甥女——每年至少有三次來和我們住在一起，或者我們?nèi)ニ麄兗彝妗Ｋ麄儊碓L時一起擁入我家，當(dāng)我們?nèi)シ鹆_里達(dá)他們家時，也是一樣。我們兩家都沒有客房，但我們都有沙發(fā)和地板可以睡，這樣也很不錯的??！

我們第一次去他們家的時候，艾迪的父母堅持要將他們的床讓給我們。他父親睡在長沙發(fā)上，他母親睡在雙人沙發(fā)中。我們原以為雙人沙發(fā)是可以拉出來的沙發(fā)床，到第二天早上才發(fā)現(xiàn)她將腿擱在扶手上睡著。

如果有什么三天后就發(fā)臭的話，那么你一定可以想象得到，這樣下去是必然的結(jié)果。但是盡管如此，婆婆安妮總是舍不得讓我們走。

當(dāng)然，母親的意思我明白。走親戚的頭三天，大家都沉浸在久別重逢的喜悅和新奇感里，你忙于招待客人。雖然你沒有自己的時間，你想淋浴卻得等待，你喝的咖啡沒有照你的方法來煮，但你不會為此種種而煩心。但是從第四天起，事情就開始有了微妙的變化。該說的新鮮事都說完了，到外面消磨時間的好去處都去過了，大家愛吃的東西也翻不出新花樣來了，你也就越來越?jīng)]有耐心了。

到了第六天，即使如咖啡桌上的水杯印這樣微不足道的小事都可以看得像軍事法庭上的證據(jù)一樣嚴(yán)重。你開始以一種吃了虧的主人的心情戴上放大鏡來看你的客人。電視機(jī)的聲音比你平時認(rèn)為合適的程度高了4分貝會被認(rèn)為“耳朵都被震聾了”。一個只值13美分的長途電話會被你看成“我的電話費要直線上升了”。

艾迪的家人常常在我們家一住就是六七天，到了最后一天，我承認(rèn)，我也希望我的家能盡快恢復(fù)正常生活，可以在放衣服的房間里換衣服。六個房間的家接待五個客人是不太夠，但是我把這種不方便的感覺歸咎于房子的問題，而不是我的客人。我并不想他們住三天就走，我只是希望我的房子能更大些。

我漸漸喜歡上了艾迪的親戚，我把他們看作是一家人，而對于我自己這方面的親戚卻從未有過這種感覺。但是如果不是艾迪的家人經(jīng)常來看我們，或者他們雖然來了卻住到旅館里，只是到我們這里來吃飯而已，那么我可能也不會有這種感覺。大家住在一起才能稱其為一家人，即使每次只相聚一周。他們是可以將毛巾在你浴室的地上隨便扔的人，他們是可以將杯盤亂放的人，他們是可以向你抱怨你這兒氣候的人。你在他們處可以隨意，他們在你處也可隨意，這就是一家人相處的方式，雙方都不會有別的方式。