Mother and child 媽媽和孩子

It was Christmas 1961. I was teaching in a small town in Ohio where my twenty seven third graders eagerly anticipated the great day of gifts giving.

那是1961年的圣誕節(jié)。我在俄亥俄州的一個小鎮(zhèn)上教小學三年級。班上27個孩子都在熱切盼望著這個互贈禮品、激動人心的日子到來。

Each day the children produced some new wonder—strings of popcorn, hand made trinkets, and German bells made from wallpaper samples, which we hung from the ceiling. Through it all she remained aloof, watching from afar, seemingly miles away. I wondered what would happen to this quiet child, once so happy, now so suddenly withdrawn. I hoped the festivities would appeal to her. But nothing did.

每天孩子們都會做點兒新玩意——爆米花串成的細鏈子、手工做的小裝飾品和墻紙做的德國式風鈴，我們把這些風鈴掛在了天花板上。但自始至終，她都是孤零零地遠遠觀望，仿佛是隔了一道幾里長的障礙。我猜想著這個安靜的孩子發(fā)生了什么事，原先是那么快樂，怎么突然變得沉默寡言起來。我希望節(jié)日的活動能吸引她，可還是無濟于事。

The day of gift giving finally came. We oohed and aahed over our handiwork as the presents were exchanged. Through it all, she sat quietly watching. I had made a special pouch for her, red and green with white lace. I wanted very much to see her smile. She opened the package so slowly and carefully. I waited but she turned away.

贈送禮物的那天終于到了。在交換禮物時我們?yōu)閷Ψ接H手做的小禮品不停地歡呼叫好。而整個過程中，她只是安靜地坐在那兒看著。我為她做的小袋很特別，紅綠相間還鑲著白邊。我非常想看到她笑一笑。她打開包裝，動作又慢又小心。我等待著，但是她卻轉過了身。

After school the children left in little groups, but she lingered, watching them go out the door. I sat down to catch my breath, hardly aware of what was happening when she came to me with outstretched hands, bearing a small white box, unwrapped and slightlysoiled, as though it had been held many times by unwashed, childish hands. "For me?" I asked with a weak smile. She said not a word, but nodded her head. I took the box and gingerly opened it. There inside, glistening green, lay a golden chain. In a flash I knew—she had made it for her mother, a mother she would never see again, a mother who would never hold her or brush her hair or share a funny story, a mother who would never again hear her childish joys or sorrows. A mother who had taken her own life just three weeks before.

放學后，學生們?nèi)齼蓛傻仉x開了，但她磨磨蹭蹭，看著大家走出門外。我坐下來稍稍松了口氣，對要發(fā)生的事沒有一點準備。這時她向我走來，雙手拿著一個白色的盒子向我遞過來。盒子沒有打包裝，稍微有些臟，好像是被孩子未洗過的小手摸過了許多遍。“給我的嗎?”我微微一笑。她沒出聲，只是點點頭。我接過盒子，非常小心地打開它。盒子里面有一條金色的鏈子，閃閃發(fā)光。我在一瞬間明白過來——這是她為媽媽做的項鏈，她再也見不到的媽媽，再也不能抱她、給她梳頭或一起講故事的媽媽。她的媽媽再也不能分享她童年時光的快樂和憂傷。就在三個星期前她的媽媽離開了人世。

I held out the chain. She took it in both her hands, reached forward, and secured the simple clasp at the back of my neck. She stepped back then as if to see that all was well. I looked down at the golden chain, then back at the giver, "Maria, it is so beautiful. She would have loved it." Neither of us could stop the tears. She stumbled into my arms and we wept together. And for that brief moment I became her mother, for she had given me the greatest gift of all: herself.

我拿起那條鏈子。她用雙手接過它，向前探了探身，在我的脖子后把簡易的項鏈鉤系好。然后她向后退了幾步，好像在看看是否合適。我低下頭看著金色的鏈子，然后抬起頭望著她，說道：“瑪麗亞，這鏈子真漂亮。你媽媽一定會喜歡的。”我們已無法抑制住淚水。她踉踉蹌蹌地撲進我的懷里，我們都哭了。在那短暫的一刻我成為她的媽媽，因為她把一份最珍貴的禮物送給了我：她自己。