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雷蒙德•卡佛:羽毛

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发表于 2007-11-7 21:11:57 |只看该作者 |倒序浏览

翻译：小二 　　 　　 　　我的这个工友巴德，请我和弗兰吃晚饭。我不认识他老婆，他不认识弗兰，这倒是让我俩谁也不欠谁的。但巴德和我是朋友。我知道巴德家有个婴儿，巴德请我们去吃饭时，这个婴儿肯定已有八个月大了。这八个月是怎么过去的？见鬼，时间都跑到哪儿去了？我还记得那天巴德带着盒雪茄来上班，在餐厅里把雪茄分给大家，荷兰大师牌，是杂货店里卖的那种。每根雪茄上都裹着一个红标签，上面写着“是个男孩”。我不抽雪茄，但还是拿了一根。“多来几根，”巴德说。他晃了晃盒子，说，“我也不喜欢雪茄，是她的主意。”他是指他老婆厄拉。 　　我从来没见过巴德的老婆，但有一次，我从电话里听到过她的声音。那是个周六的下午，我没事干，就给巴德打电话，看看他想干点什么。“喂，”是一个女的接的电话。我知道她是巴德的老婆，可我当时脑子里一片空白，想不起她的名字来了。巴德的老婆――巴德曾多次提起过她的名字，但当时我是左耳进，右耳就出去了。“喂！”这个女人又叫了一声。我能听见电视的声音。而后，这女人说，“你是谁？”我听见一个婴儿开始哭叫。“巴德！”女人在喊。“干什么？”我听见巴德在说。我还是想不起她的名字，就把电话给挂了。在工厂见到巴德时，我根本没提给他打电话这件事，但我设法让他说出了他老婆的名字。“厄拉，”他说。我默念了一遍，厄拉。 　　“没什么大不了的，”巴德说。当时，我们在餐厅里喝咖啡。“就我们四个，你和你的那位，加上我和厄拉，没什么特别的。你们七点左右过来，她六点钟喂孩子，喂完哄他睡觉，过后我们就可以吃饭了。我们住的地方不难找，但还是拿着这张地图吧。”他递给我一张纸，上面画着横七竖八的街道，还用箭头标示着方向。一个大大的叉子代表他家。我说，“就等着那一天了。”但弗兰对此并不是那么感兴趣。 　　那天晚上，看电视的时候，我问她是否要带点东西去巴德家。 　　“带什么？” 弗兰说。“他说让带了？我怎么知道带什么？我一点主意也没有。”她沉着个脸，冲我耸了耸肩。她常听我提起巴德，但不认识他，而且并不是很想去认识他。“我们可以带瓶酒去，”她说。“我无所谓，你为什么不带点酒过去？”她摇了摇头，长发在她的肩头晃动，她像是在说我们已拥有彼此，为什么还要和别人交往呢？“坐过来，”我说。她往我这儿移了移，这样我就可以搂着她了。弗兰是个大块头，有一头金色长发，一直拖到腰间。我抓起一把她的头发，闻了闻，把手埋在里面。她让我搂着。我把脸贴在她的头发上，又使劲抱了抱她。 　　有时，头发遮住她的脸，她不得不把它撩到身后，这让她很恼火。“这鬼头发，”她说，“除了碍事，屁用也没有。” 弗兰在一家奶制品厂工作。上班时，她必须把头发盘起来。她每晚都要洗头发，然后，边梳头边看电视。她时不时威胁说要把长发剪掉。但我知道她不会那么做。她知道我太喜欢这头长发了，已经到了迷恋的程度。我告诉过她，我是因为喜欢这头长发才爱上她的。我还对她说，如果她把头发剪掉，我有可能就不再爱她了。有时，我叫她‘小瑞典’，别人是会误以为她是个瑞典人的。那些夜晚，在她梳头的那段时间里，我们常大声说出我们想要的东西。我们希望有辆新车，这是我们很想要的东西之一。希望能到加拿大去度两周假，但我们从来没有想到要孩子。我们之所以没有孩子是因为不想要。也许将来吧，我们对对方说。但在当时，我们还想再等等，有可能我们会这么一直等下去。晚上，我们有时出去看电影，有时就待在家里看电视。弗兰有时会做点吃的，我们总是是草草地吃完了事。 　　 “他们也许不喝酒，”我说。 　　“那也带点去，”弗兰说，“他们不喝的话，我们喝。” 　　“红的还是白的？”我说。 　　“我们带点甜点去，”她说，根本不在听我说了什么。“其实带什么我都无所谓。这事你唱主角，别整出台戏来就行。那样的话，我就不去了。我可以做点树莓咖啡圈，或者做点小蛋糕。” 　　“他们会准备甜食的，”我说。“没有人请吃晚餐而不备甜食的。” 　　“他们也许会准备些我们不喜欢的东西，像布丁或者果冻什么的，”她说。“我对这个女人一点也不了解，我们怎么知道她会准备些什么？如果她让我们吃果冻怎么办？”弗兰摇了摇头。我耸耸肩，她说的没什么错。“他给你的那几根雪茄，”她说，“带上它。晚饭后你们可以到客厅里抽抽雪茄，喝点葡萄酒，或者那些电影里面的人喝的玩意儿。” 　　“好啦，我们把自己带去就行啦，”我说。 　　弗兰说，“我们带一块我做的面包去。” 　　 　　 　　巴德和厄拉住在离镇子大约二十英里的地方。我们在这个镇子住了三年了，但是，天晓得，弗兰和我从来没开车去郊外转转。在弯曲的小路上开开车是很愉快的。正值傍晚，天气温暖宜人。一路上是草地、栅栏和不慌不忙地向牛棚走去的奶牛。红翅乌鸫站在栅栏上，鸽子围着干草堆打转。到处是一块块的草地，野花在开放，远离路边的地方有一些小房子。我说，“真希望我们能在这儿有块地方。”但这只是个空想，又一个实现不了的愿望而已。弗兰没吭声，她正忙着看巴德的地图。我们来到一个他地图上标着的十字路口，按照地图说的那样向右转，再向前开了整整三又十分之三英里。我看到了路左边的玉米地，一个信箱，和一条长长的、沙石铺成的车道。车道的尽头，在几棵树的后面，有个带着前廊的房子。房子上立着个烟囱。现在是夏天，当然没有烟从那儿冒出来。尽管这样，我觉得它看上去很漂亮，并告诉了弗兰。 　　“像根棍子似的杵在那儿，”她说。 　　我拐上车道，两边种满了玉米，它们长得比车还高。我能听见轮胎压过砂砾发出的声音。接近住房时，我们看见花园里种着的一种绿色的东西。它们和棒球差不多大小，吊在枝子上。 　　“这是什么？”我说。 　　“我怎么知道？”她说。“也许是种什么瓜，我搞不清楚。” 　　“哎，弗兰，”我说，“别那么激动。” 　　她什么也没说，咬了一下下嘴唇。我们快到房子跟前时，她关掉了收音机。 　　前院立着个儿童秋千，地上散落着些玩具。我把车开到房屋跟前，停了下来。就在这时，传来一声恐怖的嚎叫声。没错，这家是有个婴儿，但这声嚎叫对婴儿来说，实在是太响了点。 　　“什么声音？”弗兰说。 　　就在这时，一只兀鹫一般大小的东西，从一棵树上重重地飞了下来，正好落在车子的前方。它抖了抖身子，转过长长的脖子，抬起头，打量着我们。 　　“见鬼了，”我说。我两手握着方向盘，一动不动地坐在那儿，盯着那玩意儿看。 　　“不是在做梦吧？”弗兰说。“我从来没见过一个真家伙。” 　　我俩都知道这是只孔雀，但谁都没吱声，只是呆呆地看着它。它抬起头来，又发出一声刺耳的怪叫，把身体抖得蓬松开来，看上去比刚才大了一倍。 　　“见鬼，”我又说了声。我们呆坐在车的前排座位上。 　　这只鸟往前走了几步，转过头来，站稳脚。那双发亮的、充满野性的眼睛，一直盯着我们。它的尾巴抬了起来，像一把收起又展开来的大扇子，上面闪烁着彩虹上的每一种颜色。 　　“我的天哪，”弗兰轻声说道，把一只手放在我的膝盖上。 　　“见鬼，”我说。除了这句话，不知道还能说些什么。 　　这只鸟再次发出一声怪叫，“啊-嗷，啊-嗷！”要是在夜深人静的时候第一次听见，我肯定会以为是个要死的人，或者是某种凶猛的野兽在吼叫。 　　 　　 　　前门打开，巴德走了出来。他正扣着衬衫扣子，头发湿漉漉的，像是刚洗完澡的样子。 　　“闭上你的嘴，乔伊!”他对着孔雀说道。又冲它拍了拍手，那家伙往后退了几步。“够了。对，闭嘴！给我闭嘴，你这个混蛋！”他边下台阶，边往裤子里塞衬衫的下摆。他穿着平时上班穿的衣服――牛仔裤和粗布衬衫。我穿着休闲裤和短袖运动衫，外加一双高级的路夫鞋。看到巴德的穿着，我对自己穿这么正式感到不太自在。 　　“你们能来真是太好啦，”巴德走到车子跟前时说。“进来吧。” 　　“嗨，巴德，”我说。 　　弗兰和我从车子里出来。孔雀在一旁站着，那颗令人恶心的头点来点去的。我们很小心地和它保持着距离。 　　“好找吗？”巴德对我说。他没朝弗兰那边看，等着我给他们作介绍。 　　“路标得很清楚，”我说。“哎，巴德，这是弗兰。弗兰，巴德。她有话要跟你说，巴德。” 　　他笑了笑，他们握了握手。弗兰比巴德高，巴德只好抬着头看她。 　　“他总在说你，”弗兰把手收回去，说。“巴德长，巴德短的。你几乎是他唯一的话题。我好像都已经认识你了。”她用一只眼睛瞄着孔雀，它已经走到离前廊不远的地方。 　　“这位是我的朋友，”巴德说，“当然该谈论我才对。”巴德说完，笑了一下，用拳头轻轻捅了一下我的胳膊。 　　弗兰手上还拿着面包，她不知道该怎么办，就把它递给巴德。“我们带了点东西过来。” 　　巴德接过面包，反反复复地看着它，就像这是他有生以来见到过的第一块面包。“你们真是太客气了。”他把面包举到面前，闻了闻。 　　“面包是弗兰烤的，”我说。 　　巴德点点头，然后说，“进屋吧，来见见我们的妻子和母亲。” 　　他肯定是在说厄拉。厄拉是这里唯一的母亲。巴德说过他妈已经去世，而他爸在他很小的时候就离家出走了。 　　孔雀一下子窜到了我们前面。巴德开门时，它又跳到台阶上，想往家里钻。 　　“噢，”孔雀碰着她的腿时，弗兰叫出声来。 　　“乔伊，真该死，”巴德说。他用指头在它头上敲了一下。孔雀退回到台阶上，抖动了一下身子，尾巴上硕大的羽毛，随着抖动发出嘎嘎声。巴德做出要踢它的样子，它又往后退了退。巴德替我们打开门。“她让这该死的东西进家里。要不了多久，它就会坐在该死的桌子旁吃饭，躺在该死的床上睡觉了。” 　　弗兰在门前停了一下，回头看了看玉米地，说，“你们住的地方真不错。”巴德还把着门。“是不是呀，杰克？” 　　“那还用说，”我说。我有点吃惊她会这么说。 　　“住这不那么挤得慌，”巴德说。他边把着门，边冲孔雀做了个威胁性的动作，“你还没完了，一刻都闲不下来。”他接着说，“伙计们，进来吧。” 　　我说，“嗨，巴德，那边种的是什么玩意？” 　　“西红柿，”巴德说。 　　“遇上农夫了，”弗兰说，摇了摇头。 　　巴德笑了笑。我们进到屋里。客厅里，一个头发盘在头顶、矮小丰满的妇人在等着我们。她的手摆弄着围裙，脸庞通红通红的。我开始还以为她是喘不过气来，或正为什么生气呢。她只瞟了我一眼，就去看弗兰。不是不友好，只是盯着弗兰看，脸上不停地泛着红光。 　　巴德说，“厄拉，这是弗兰，这是我朋友杰克，你该很了解他了。伙计们，这是厄拉。”他把面包递给了厄拉。 　　“这是什么？”她说，“哦，自家烤的面包。嗯，谢谢。随便坐，跟在家里一样。巴德，问问他们想喝点什么。我得看着点炉子上的东西。”厄拉说完后，拿着面包，转身进了厨房。 　　“坐坐坐，”巴德说。弗兰和我一屁股坐在沙发上。我掏出烟来。“烟灰缸在这，”巴德说，从电视上方拿起个很重的东西。“用这个，”他说，把它放在我面前的茶几上。这是个做成天鹅模样的玻璃烟灰缸。我点着烟，把火柴丢进天鹅背上的开口里，看着一缕青烟从天鹅的身子上冒了出来。 　　彩电开着，我们看了一会儿。屏幕上，赛车在跑道上飞奔。播音员的声音很沉重，但他像是在忍住自己的兴奋。“我们还在等着官方的证实，”播音员说。 　　“你们想看这个吗？”巴德说。他还站在那儿。 　　我说我无所谓。我确实是无所谓。弗兰耸耸肩，像是在说，反正今天已经赔进去了。 　　“大概还剩二十圈了吧，”巴德说。“很接近。刚才有很多赛车撞成一堆，有半打的车给撞坏了，好几个车手受了伤，还没说伤得到底有多重。” 　　“开着吧，”我说。“就看这。” 　　“也许有辆车会在我们眼前爆炸，”弗兰说。“或者有辆车会冲到看台上，压扁那个卖廉价热狗的家伙。”她用手捻着一缕头发，眼睛盯着电视。 　　巴德瞧了一眼弗兰，看她是不是在开玩笑。“刚才的撞车很有点那个，不知怎么就撞一起了。车子、车子部件和人，到处都是。好了，你们喝点什么？有根汁汽水，还有瓶‘老乌鸦’【注一】。” 　　“你喝的是什么？”我对巴德说。 　　“麦芽酒，”巴德说。“冰的，很不错。” 　　“那我来点，”我说。 　　“给我来点‘老乌鸦’，掺点水，”弗兰说。“放在高脚杯里，加点冰。谢啦，巴德。” 　　“愿意效劳，”巴德说。进厨房前，他又瞟了一眼电视。 　　 　　 　　 　　弗兰捅了我一下，并朝电视那边点了点头。“看那上面，”她低声说道。 “看见没有？”我朝她指的方向看了眼。那儿有个细长的红色花瓶，里面插了几枝院子里采的雏菊。花瓶的边上有一块台布上，上面放着一付石膏做成的牙齿。其歪七扭八、参差不齐的程度，可以说是举世无双。那上面既没有嘴唇，也没有下巴，只有些旧的石膏牙齿，埋在那个类似牙床的又厚又黄的东西里面。 　　就在这时，厄拉走了进来，她已经脱掉了围裙，手里拿着一罐杂拌干果和一瓶根汁汽水。她把罐子放在茶几上，紧挨着那个天鹅，说，“自己动手吧，巴德在为你们准备饮料。”厄拉说话时，脸又红了。她在一把旧藤摇椅上坐下并摇了起来，一边看电视，一边喝着汽水。巴德端着个木托盘进来，上面有弗兰的加了水的威士忌和我的麦芽酒，还有瓶为他自己准备的麦芽酒。 　　“你要个杯子吗？”他问我道。 　　我摇了摇头。他轻轻碰了下我的膝盖，然后转向弗兰。 　　她从巴德手里接过酒杯，说了声，“谢谢。”眼光又被那付牙齿吸引过去。巴德看出了她在看什么。赛车在跑道上发出刺耳的声音。我拿起麦芽酒，把注意力转向电视。这牙齿与我无关。“这是厄拉的牙齿，在戴整牙牙箍前的模样，”巴德对弗兰说。“我已经习惯了，但我猜它们看上去很可笑。就我而言，我不知道她为什么要留着那个。”他瞧了一眼厄拉，然后冲我眨了眨眼。他在他的La-Z-Boy【注二】上坐下来，把一条腿翘到另一条腿上。他一边喝着汽水，一边看着厄拉。 　　厄兰的脸又红了，她拿着那瓶根汁汽水，先喝了一口，然后说，“它是用来提醒我我欠巴德的到底有多少。” 　　“你说什么？”弗兰说。她正在干果罐里挑着腰果。弗兰停了下来，看着厄拉。“对不起，没听见你刚才说的。”弗兰看着这个女人，等着她的下文。 　　厄拉的脸又红了。“我有很多值得感激的事情，”她说。“这就是其中的一件。我留着它是为了提醒自己我欠巴德的。” 她喝了口汽水，放下瓶子，说，“你有付很漂亮的牙齿，弗兰。我一下子就注意到了。但我的牙齿，从小就长得不整齐。”她用手指甲敲了敲她的几颗门牙，说，“我父母花不起整牙的钱，我的牙长得歪七扭八的。我的第一任丈夫不在乎我长得什么样。他根本就不在乎！除了他的下一杯酒在哪里，他对什么都不在乎。他在这个世界上只有一个朋友，那就是他的酒瓶。”她摇了摇头。“后来巴德出现了，他把我从泥潭里救了出来。我们在一起后，巴德说的第一件事就是，‘让我们把这付牙整整。’那付模子就是在我们刚认识不久，在我第二次去见牙医，装牙箍前做的。” 　　厄拉的脸一直红着。她看着电视画面，喝着汽水，似乎再没什么好说的了。 　　“那个整牙的医生肯定是个高手，”弗兰说。她回头看了眼电视顶上放着的、恐怖电影里才见得着的牙齿。 　　“他真了不起，”厄拉说。她从椅子上侧过身来，“看见了吗？”她张开嘴，再次让我们看她的牙齿，一点也不害羞。 　　巴德走到电视跟前，拿起那付牙齿。他走到厄拉身旁，把它平放在厄拉的脸旁。“过去和现在，”巴德说。 　　厄拉从巴德手中拿过模子，“你知道吗？那位整牙医生想把它留下来。”她说话时，模子一直放在腿上。“我说没门。我让他明白这是我的牙齿。他只好照了几张模子的照片。他告诉我他会把照片登在一个杂志上。” 　　巴德说，“不难想象那是个什么样的杂志，肯定没什么订户。” 他一说完，我们都笑了起来。 　　“牙箍拿掉后，我笑的时候还是用手捂住嘴，就像这样，”她说。“我现在有时还这样，习惯了。一天，巴德说，‘厄拉，你不用再那样了，那么漂亮的牙齿，不必把它们藏起来，你现在有一付非常好看的牙齿。’”厄拉看着巴德，巴德冲她眨眨眼。她开口笑了笑，随后垂下眼来。 　　弗兰在喝她的酒，我喝了几口汽水。我不知道该说点什么，弗兰也一样，但我知道过后会有她说的。 　　我说，“厄拉，我往你这儿打过一次电话，是你接的。但我把电话挂了，我不知道我为什么要那么做。”说完，就开始呷我的饮料。我不知道我为什么要提那件事。 　　“我不记得有这么回事了，”厄拉说，“什么时候的事？” 　　“有些时候了。” 　　“不记得了，”她摇了摇头说。她用手指触摸着放在腿上石膏牙齿，看了一眼赛车画面，又在摇椅上摇开了。 　　弗兰转过头来看我。她咬着自己的下嘴唇，什么也没有说。 　　巴德说，“嗯，还有什么新鲜事可说？” 　　“再来点花生瓜子，”厄拉说。“晚饭一会儿就好。” 　　从屋子后面的房间里传来了哭声。 　　“又是他，”厄拉对巴德做了个鬼脸，说。 　　“老儿子，”巴德说。他靠在椅背上，我们看完了剩下的三、四圈赛车，没有声音。 　　我们不时地听见一、两声，后面房间里传来的婴儿恼人的哭声。 　　“不知道怎么搞的，”厄拉说。她从椅子上站起身来。“眼看着就可以吃饭了，我只要把肉汁准备一下就行了。不过，我最好还是先去看看他。你们干吗不先去餐桌那儿坐着？我一会儿就好。” 　　“我想看看小宝宝，”弗兰说。 　　厄拉手里还拿着那付牙模。她走过去，把它放在电视机的顶上。“现在有可能会刺激他，”她说。“他有点认生。让我试着把他哄睡了。等他睡着了，你可以过来瞅一眼。”说完，她沿着过道向一个房间走去。她打开门，蹑手蹑脚地走进去，把身后的门关上。婴儿停止了哭叫。 　　 　　 　　巴德关了电视，我们进了餐厅，在餐桌旁坐下。我和巴德聊起了厂里的事情。弗兰听着，还不时地问个问题，但我看得出来她很无聊。或许刚才厄拉没让她看孩子，冒犯了她。她巡视着厄拉的厨房，东看西看地来掩饰自己的不满。 　　厄拉回到了厨房，说，“给他换了尿布，让他玩橡皮鸭子。也许他会让我们安心吃一会儿，不过，别太指望这个。”她打开一个锅盖，把锅从炉子上移开，向一个碗里倒了些红色的汁，再把碗放在桌子上。她打开其他锅的盖子，看看是不是都煮熟了。桌上有烤好的火腿、红薯、土豆泥、利马豆、带杆的玉米和绿菜做的沙拉。弗兰的面包被放在一个显眼的地方，紧挨着火腿。 　　“忘拿餐巾纸了，”厄拉说。“你们先开始吧，喝点什么？巴德每餐都离不开牛奶。” 　　“牛奶就可以，”我说。 　　“我来点水，”弗兰说。“让我自己来倒吧，你已经忙了半天了，不能再麻烦你了。”她做出要从椅子上起来的样子。 　　厄拉说，“请别起来，你是客人，让我来。” 她的脸又红了起来。 　　我们把手放在腿上，坐在那儿等着。我还在想那付石膏牙齿。厄拉拿来了餐巾纸，我和巴德的牛奶，以及弗兰要的冰水。弗兰说，“谢谢。” 　　“不用客气，”厄拉说。而后，她坐了下来。巴德清了清嗓子，低下头，说了几句谢恩的话。他的声音非常小，我几乎听不见他在说什么。但我知道个大意，他在为即将被我们消灭掉的食物，而感谢上苍。 　　“阿门，”厄拉在他结束后说。 　　巴德递给我放着火腿的盘子，给他自己加了点土豆泥。我们就吃上了。我们不怎么说话，除了巴德和我会说上几句，“这火腿真好吃。”或者，“这是我吃过的最好吃的甜玉米。” 　　“这面包很不一般，”厄拉说。 　　“请再给我来点色拉，厄拉，”弗兰说，比刚才略微放松了一点。 　　“多来点这个，”巴德把盛着火腿的盘子，或盛着红色浇汁的碗递给我时会说。 　　时不时的，我们会听见婴儿弄出的响动声。厄拉会转过头去听一听，响声不大，她也就放心了。她会回过头来接着吃她的饭。 　　“宝宝今晚不太对头，”厄拉对巴德说。 　　“我还是想瞧瞧他，”弗兰说。“我姐有个小宝宝。但她和宝宝住在丹佛。我哪天才能去丹佛？我有个从没见过的甥女。”弗兰停下来想了会儿，又接着吃起来。 　　厄拉叉了点火腿到嘴里。“希望他早点睡着，”她说。 　　巴德说，“所有的都剩下这么多，大家再来点火腿和红薯。” 　　“我一点也吃不下了，“弗兰说。她把叉子放在盘子上。”太好吃了，但我实在是吃不下了。” 　　“留点空间，”巴德说。“厄拉做了大黄派【注三】。” 　　弗兰说，“我想我可以来一小块。等大家吃完再说。” 　　“我也一样，”我说。我是为了礼貌才这么说的。我从十三岁起就不喜欢大黄派，和草莓冰淇淋一起吃时，会让我很不舒服。 　　我们吃完了自己盘子里的东西。没一会儿，又听见那该死的孔雀了。这家伙现在跑到房顶上面去了。我们能听见它就在我们头顶上的瓦上走来走去，弄出些踢踢踏踏的声音。 　　巴德摇摇头。“乔伊要不了多久就会倒下了，他折腾累了后就会去睡觉。”巴德说。“他睡在一棵树上。” 　　孔雀再次发出一声嚎叫，“啊-嗷”。谁都没吭声。又有什么可说的呢？ 　　停了一会儿，厄拉说，“巴德，他想进来。” 　　“唔，他不可以进来，”巴德说。“我们有客人，如果你还没忘记的话。这些人不想和只老鸟待在一个屋子里。那只肮脏的鸟和你那付旧牙齿！别人会怎么想？”他摇了摇头，笑了。我们都笑了，弗兰也跟着笑了起来。 　　“他一点都不脏，巴德，”厄拉说。“你这是怎么啦？你喜欢乔伊。你从什么时候开始认为他脏啦？” 　　“从他在地毯上拉屎开始，”巴德说。“原谅我的脏话，”他对弗兰说。“但我得告诉你，有时，我真想把那个老鸟的脖子给扭断。他都不值得我去杀，是吧，厄拉？有时，深更半夜的，他的叫声会把我吵醒。他连一毛钱都不值，对不对，厄拉？” 　　厄拉对巴德的胡说八道摇了摇头。她拨着盘子里的几棵豆子。 　　“你们怎么会想起来去养一只孔雀？”弗兰很想知道。 　　厄拉从盘子上抬起头来。她说，“我还是个小姑娘时，在一本杂志上看到一张孔雀的照片。从那时起，我就一直希望自己有一只孔雀。我觉得它是天底下最美的东西。我把那张照片剪下来，贴在床头。这是我保存最久的照片。后来，巴德和我住到这儿来了。我觉得这是个机会，就对他说，‘巴德，我想要只孔雀。’巴德觉得我的想法很可笑。” 　　“我只好去打听了一下，”巴德说。“我听说邻县有个老人养这玩意。他叫它们‘天堂鸟’。为了这‘天堂鸟’，我们花了一百块钱，”他说。他用手拍了一下前额。“老天爷呀，我娶了个品味很高的女人。”他冲厄拉咧嘴笑了笑。 　　“巴德，”厄拉说。“你知道不是这样。别的不说，乔伊可以看家，”她对弗兰说。“有了乔伊，我们就不需要看家狗了。他什么声音都听得见。” 　　“如果不景气的话，这是很可能的，我就把乔伊放一大锅里，”巴德说。“连皮带毛一起煮。” 　　“巴德！这一点也不好笑，”厄拉说。但她还是和我们一起笑了起来，让我们再次欣赏到她的牙齿。 　　婴儿又哭开了。这次哭得很厉害。厄拉放下餐巾，站了起来。 　　巴德说，“不是这一个，就是那一个。厄拉，把他抱出来吧。” 　　 　　 　　孔雀又开始哀嚎，我感到背上的汗毛竖了起来。我看了眼弗兰，她把餐巾纸拿起又放下。我往厨房窗户那边看了看。外面全黑了，窗户开着，外面装着纱窗。我好像听到孔雀在前廊发出的响动声。 　　弗兰把眼睛转向过道，她在等着厄拉和婴儿。 　　过了会儿，厄拉抱着它走了出来。我看了一眼婴儿，不由吸了口凉气。厄拉抱着婴儿在桌旁坐下。她的手插在它的胳肢窝里，好让它站在她的大腿上，面对我们。她看着我和弗兰，脸没有红。她在等着我们的评价。 　　“呃，”弗兰说。 　　“什么？”厄拉很快地说。 　　“没什么，”弗兰说。“我好像看见窗口有个东西，好像是只蝙蝠。” 　　“这里没蝙蝠，“厄拉说。 　　“也许是只飞蛾，“弗兰说。“是有个东西。嗯，”她说，“真是个不一般的小宝宝。” 　　巴德看着婴儿，而后，他看了看弗兰。他把椅子向后翘着，点点头，说“没什么，别担心。我们知道他目前还赢不了选美比赛，他不是克拉克•盖博【注四】。但给他点时间。有点运气的话，这个嘛，他会长成他老爹这个样子的。” 　　婴儿站在厄拉的腿上，转着脑袋看着我们。厄拉已把手移到它身体的中部，这样一来，它就可以在他的肥腿上前后摇晃。这是我见到过的最丑的婴儿，可谓绝无仅有。丑得我都不知道说什么是好，我一句话也说不出来。我不是指它有病或是有残疾什么的。没别的，就是长得丑。它长着个又大又红的脸，泡泡眼，大背头，加上肥厚的嘴唇。根本见不着脖子，下巴下面有三、四层的肥肉，一直挂到耳朵那儿，耳朵在光头上支楞着，手腕上挂满肥肉，手臂和手指头上也是肥乎乎的。说它丑都像是在夸奖它了。 　　 　　 　　这个丑婴儿发着怪声，在它妈的腿上又蹦又跳的。然后，它停了下来，身体向前倾，用它的胖手来够厄拉的盘子。 　　我是见过婴孩的。我没成年时，我的两个姐姐一共有六个小孩子。我小时候常和小孩子在一起玩。我也在商店之类的地方见到过小孩子。但这个小孩子实在是太绝了。弗兰也在盯着它看，我猜她也是什么话都说不出来。 　　“他是个壮小子，是不是？”我说。 　　巴德说，“老天保佑，他很快就会对足球感兴趣。他可是个一顿饭也不能缺的主。” 　　像是为了确定这点，厄拉用叉子挖了点红薯，把它送到婴儿的嘴边。“他是我的乖宝宝，是不是？”她对这个胖东西说，对我们的存在一点不理会。 　　婴儿身体前倾，张口来接红薯。厄拉把红薯往它嘴里送时，它伸手去抓厄拉的叉子。它一边嚼一边在厄拉的腿上蹦着。眼睛鼓鼓的，像是被硬塞进去的一样。 　　弗兰说，“他真是个不寻常的小宝宝，厄拉。” 　　婴儿的脸被弄得一塌糊涂，它又开始闹上了。 　　“让乔伊进来吧，”厄拉对巴德说。 　　巴德把椅子的前腿放回到地板上。“我想至少要问问这两位，看看他们是否介意，”巴德说。 　　厄拉看了眼弗兰，又看着我。她的脸又红上了。婴孩在她腿上又蹦又跳，扭来扭去地想下地。 　　“都是朋友，”我说，“想干什么就干什么。” 　　巴德说，“厄拉，你想过没有？也许他们不想和一个像乔伊这样一个老笨鸟待在一起。” 　　“你们介意吗？”厄拉对我们说道。“能让乔伊进来吗？我觉得那只鸟今晚不大对劲。宝宝也一样。他习惯了睡觉前和乔伊玩一会儿。今晚这俩一个都不安生。” 　　“不用问我们，”弗兰说。“我不介意他进屋来。我从来没靠这么近地看过，但我不介意。”她看着我。我猜她是想让我说点什么。 　　“嗨，没事，”我说。“让他进来。”我端起杯子，把牛奶喝完。 　　巴德从椅子上站起身来，他走到前门，把门打开，顺手打开了院子里的灯。 　　“宝宝叫什么？”弗兰想知道。 　　“哈罗德，”厄拉说。她又喂了哈罗德一点红薯。“他真的很聪明，精得跟鬼似的，你对他说什么他都知道。是不是呀，哈罗德？弗兰，等你有了孩子后，你就知道了。” 　　弗兰呆呆地看着她，我听见前门开了一下又关上了。 　　“他是有点聪明，”巴德回到厨房时说道。“像极了厄拉的老爸了。那可是个聪明透顶的老家伙。” 　　 　　 　　我看了看巴德的身后，能看见孔雀待在客厅里，头转来转去的，就像你在转一个手镜。它抖了抖身子，声音听起来就像有人在另一个房间里洗一付牌。 　　它向前走了一步，又走了一步。 　　“我能抱一抱宝宝吗？”弗兰说。口气像是在央求厄拉。 　　厄拉隔着桌子把孩子递给她。 　　弗兰想把婴孩放在自己的腿上，但婴孩开始扭来扭去，并发出怪叫声。 　　“哈罗德，”弗兰说。 　　厄拉看着弗兰和婴儿，说“哈罗德的外公十六岁时，决定把百科全书从头到尾读一遍。他做到了。读完时，他二十整，正好在认识我妈前不久。” 　　“他现在在哪儿？”我问道。“在做什么？”我很想知道，一个当年立下这么个志愿的人，现在究竟怎样了。 　　“他死了，”厄拉说。她目不转睛地看着弗兰，弗兰正把婴孩面朝上地平放在她的腿上。她咯吱着它众多肥下巴中的一个，并开始和它咿咿呀呀地说了起来。 　　“他在森林里做工，”巴德说，“伐木工人放倒的一棵树把他砸死了。” 　　“我妈从保险公司得了点钱，”厄拉说。“但她早就把它用光了。巴德每月都给她寄点过去。” 　　“没多少，”巴德说，“我们自己也不富裕，谁让她是厄拉的妈呢。” 　　这时，孔雀的胆子大了起来，它开始慢慢走动，蹒蹒跚跚地向厨房走去。它的头昂着，但有个角度，红色的眼睛盯着我们。它的冠，也就是几根翘着的毛，在它头上方几寸的地方立着，羽毛从尾部张开。它在离桌子不远的地方站定，打量着我们。 　　“看来这天堂鸟不是白叫的，”巴德说。 　　弗兰没抬头，她的注意力全集中在孩子身上，她和它玩上了拍手游戏。小东西很开心，我是说，至少它不再哭闹了。她把它抱了起来，对着它的耳朵咕哝了点什么。 　　“好了，”她说，“别告诉任何人我说的。” 　　孩子瞪着泡泡眼睛看她，它伸手抓了一大把弗兰的金发。孔雀往桌前走了几步。我们都呆坐着，谁都不开口。婴孩哈罗德看见了孔雀，它松开弗兰的头发，用它的胖手指指着它，一边蹦上蹦下，一边怪喊怪叫。 　　孔雀绕过桌子，飞快地朝孩子跑过来。它用它的长脖子来缠婴孩的腿，把它的冠伸进了婴孩的睡衣里，它的呆脑袋前后晃动着。婴孩蹬着他的小腿，笑个不停，扭着身子，从弗兰的膝盖滑到了地上。孔雀还在不停地顶婴孩，像是在玩游戏。婴孩使劲向前挣，弗兰拦腰搂着他，让他靠在她的腿上。 　　“我真的不敢相信，”她说。 　　“这孔雀脑子有毛病，这就是问题所在，”巴德说，“该死的东西不知道自己是只鸟，这是它最主要的问题。” 　　厄拉笑了，又一次露出了她的牙齿。她看着巴德。巴德点了点头，把椅子向外推了推。 　　这真是个奇丑无比的婴孩。但是，我觉得巴德和厄拉并不太在意。即使在意的话，他们也许会这样想：好吧，就算它很丑，那也是我们的孩子。并且，这只是一个阶段，很快就有另一个阶段。有这个阶段，也会有下一个阶段。从长远看，在经历了所有这些阶段后，一切都会好起来的。他们很可能是这样想的。 　　巴德把婴孩举过头顶，不停地摇晃他，直到他大声尖叫起来。孔雀在一边看着，身上的羽毛竖了起来。 　　弗兰又摇了摇头。她把衣服上婴孩坐过的地方抹抹平。厄拉拿起叉子，吃着盘子里剩下的几颗豆子。 　　巴德把婴孩移到身后，说，“还有咖啡和甜点。” 　　在巴德和厄拉家度过的那晚很不一般，我当时就感到了。我对我生活中的一切都感到满意，恨不得马上就能和弗兰单独呆着，告诉她我的感受。那晚我许了个愿。我坐在桌旁，闭着眼，认真地想了许久。我希望永远不会忘记这个夜晚。这个愿望竟然实现了，但这是个给我带来厄运的愿望。当然，在当时，我不可能知道这一点。 　　“杰克，想什么呢？”巴德对我说。 　　“随便想想，”我说，冲他笑了笑。 　　“一笔钱，”厄拉说。 　　我又笑了笑，摇了摇头。 　　 　　 　　从巴德和厄拉家回来的那晚，我们钻进被子后，弗兰说，“宝贝，用你的种子来填满我！”听她这么一说，我全身为之一振，边喊边释放了出来。 　　后来，我们的生活发生了诸多的变化，添了孩子，还有其他等等。弗兰会把在巴德家的那一晚，看成是这些变化的起因。但她错了。变化是后来的――它来临时，与发生在其他人身上的事情完全一样，但不像我们所希望的那样。 　　“你该死的朋友和他家的丑八怪。”晚上看电视时，弗兰会无缘无故地说上一句。“还有那只臭鸟。”她会说。“老天，谁会养那样的东西！”弗兰会说。她现在常说些这样的话，尽管从那次以后，她再也没见到过巴德和厄拉。 　　弗兰不再去奶制品厂上班，她早就把她的长发剪掉了。她也开始发胖了。我们不谈这些，有什么好谈的？ 　　我还是每天和巴德在工厂碰面，我们一起上班，一起打开午餐饭盒。我要是问他的话，他会对我讲讲厄拉和哈罗德。乔伊已不是话题了。有一天晚上，它飞到树上后就了结了，再也没下来。也许是太老了吧，巴德说。后来，猫头鹰把它给解决掉了。巴德说完耸耸肩。他一边吃着三明治，一边对我说哈罗德会成为一个后卫球员。“你真该瞧瞧这孩子现在的样子，”巴德说。我点点头。我们仍然是朋友，这一点都没变。但我和他说话不再像从前那样毫无顾忌了。我知道他察觉到了，并希望能不那样。我也这么希望来着。 　　难得有一、两次，他会问到我家的情况。如果他问的话，我会告诉他一切都好。“一切都很好，”我说，合上饭盒，取出根香烟。巴德点点头，呷一口咖啡。其实，我的孩子和他是有一丝因缘的。但我不谈这个，就连同孩子他妈也不谈，特别是同她，什么都不谈。现在，我俩之间话越来越少了。大多时间里，闷坐着看看电视。但我忘不了那一晚。我记得那只孔雀怎样抬起灰色的脚，在桌旁一点一点地挪动。后来我的朋友和他的妻子在门口和我们道别。厄拉送给弗兰几根孔雀毛做纪念。我记得我们大家握手拥抱，说着告别的话。上车后，弗兰靠着我坐着，手一直放在我腿上。我们就这样从朋友家开了回来。 　　 　　 　　【注一】一种威士忌酒的牌子。 　　【注二】一种很舒适的沙发，其靠背可以放平，下面有可升降的垫脚。 　　【注三】一种加有植物大黄的糕点。 　　【注四】克拉克•盖博（Clark Gable），美国二、三十年代著名男影星。 　　 　　 　　附原文。 　　 　　Feathers 　　 　　This friend of mine from work, Bud, he asked Fran and me to supper. I didn’t know his wife and he didn't know Fran. That made us even. But Bud and I were friends. And I knew there was a little baby at Bud's house. That baby must have been eight months old when Bud asked us to supper where’d those eight months go? Hell, where’s the time gone since? I remember the day Bud came to work with a box of cigars. He handed them out in the lunchroom. They were drugstore cigars. Dutch Masters. But each cigar had a red sticker on it and a wrapper that said IT’S A BOY! I didn't smoke cigars, but I took one anyway. “Take a couple,” Bud said. He shook the box. "I don't like cigars either. This is her idea." He was talking about his wife Olla. 　　I'd never met Bud's wife, but once I'd heard her voice over the telephone. It was a Saturday afternoon, and I didn’t have anything I wanted to do. So I called Bud to see if he wanted to do anything. This woman picked up the phone and said, "Hello.” I blanked and couldn't remember her name. Bud's wife. Bud had said her name to me any number of times. But it went in one ear and out the other. “Hello!” the woman said again. I could hear a TV going. Then the woman said, “Who is this?” I heard a baby start up. “Bud!” The woman called. "What?” I heard Bud say. I still couldn’t remember her name. So I hung up. The next time I saw Bud at work I sure as hell didn't tell him I'd called. But I made a point of getting him to mention his wife's name “Olla," he said. Olla, I said to myself. Olla. 　　 “No big deal, " Bud said. We were in the lunchroom drinking coffee. “Just the four of us. You and your misses, and me and Olla. Nothing fancy. Come around seven. She feeds the baby at six. She'll put him down after that, and then we'll eat. Our place isn't hard to find. But here’s a map. “He gave me a sheet of paper with all kinds of lines indicating major and minor roads, lanes and such, with arrows pointing to the four poles of the compass. A large X marked the location of his house. I said, “We’re looking forward to it.” But Fran wasn't too thrilled. 　　That evening, watching TV, I asked her if we should take anything to Bud's. 　　"Like what?” Fran said. "Did he say to bring something? How should I know? I don’t have any idea." She shrugged and gave me this look. She'd heard me before on the subject of Bud. But she didn't know him and she wasn’t interested in knowing him. "We could take a bottle of wine,” she said. “But I don't care. Why don't you take some wine?" She shook her head. Her long hair swung back and forth over her shoulders. Why do we need other people? She seemed to be saying. We have each other. “Come here," I said. She moved a little closer so I could hug her. Fran’s a big tall drink of water. She has this blond hair that hangs down her back. I picked up some of her hair and sniffed it. I wound my hand in her hair. She let me hug her. I put my face right up in her hair and hugged her some more. 　　Sometimes when her hair gets in her way she has to pick it up and push it over her shoulder. She gets mad at it. "This hair,” she says. “Nothing but trouble." Fran works in a creamery and has to wear her hair up when she goes to work. She has to wash it every night and take a brush to it when we're sitting in front of the TV. Now and then she threatens to cut it off. But I don't think she'd do that. She knows I like it too much. She knows I'm crazy about it. I tell her I fell in love with her because of her hair. I tell her I might stop loving her if she cut it. Sometimes I call her “Swede.” She could pass for a Swede. Those times together in the evening she'd brush her hair and we'd wish out loud for things we didn't have. We wished for a new car, that's one of the things we wished for. And we wished we could spend a couple of weeks in Canada. But one thing we didn't wish for was kids. The reason we didn't have kids was that we didn’t want kids. Maybe sometime, we said to each other. But right then, we were waiting. We thought we might keep on waiting. Some nights we went to a movie. Other nights we just stayed in and watched TV. Sometimes Fran baked things for me and we'd eat whatever it was all in a sitting. 　　“Maybe they don't drink wine, " I said. 　　"Take some wine anyway,” Fran said. “If they don't drink it, we'll drink it.” 　　”White or red?" I said. 　　"We’ll take something sweet,” she said, not paying me any attention. "But I don't care if we take anything. This is your show. Let's not make a production out of it, or else I don't want to go. I can make a raspberry coffee ring. Or else some cupcakes.” 　　"They’ll have dessert, "I said. “You don't invite people to supper without fixing a dessert.” 　　"They might have rice pudding. Or Jell-O! Something we don’t like," she said. “I don't know anything about the woman. How do we know what she'll have? What if she gives us Jell-O?" Fran shook her head. I shrugged. But she was right. “Those old cigars he gave you,” she said. "Take them. Then you and him can go off to the parlor after supper and smoke cigars and drink port wine, or whatever those people in movies drink.” 　　"Okay, we'll just take ourselves, "I said. 　　Fran said, “We'll take a loaf of my bread.” 　　 　　 　　 　　 　　Bud and Olla lived twenty miles or so from town. We'd lived in that town for three years, but damn it, Fran and I hadn’t so much as taken a spin in the country. It felt good driving those winding little roads. It was early evening, nice and warm, and we saw pastures, rail fences, milk cows moving slowly toward old barns. We saw red-winged blackbirds on the fences, and pigeons circling around haylofts. There were gardens and such, wildflowers in bloom, and little houses set back from the road. I said, “I wish we had us a place out here.” It was just an idle thought, another wish that wouldn’t amount to anything. Fran didn't answer. She was busy looking at Bud's map. We came to the four-way stop he'd marked. We turned right like the map said and drove exactly three and three-tenths miles. On the left side of the road, I saw a field of corn, a mailbox, and a long, graveled driveway. At the end of the driveway, back in some trees, stood a house with a front porch. There was a chimney on the house. But it was summer, so, of course, no smoke rose from the chimney. But I thought it was a pretty picture, and I said so to Fran. 　　“It's the sticks out here,” she said. 　　I turned into the drive. Corn rose up on both sides of the drive. Corn stood higher than the car. I could hear gravel crunching under the tires. As we got up close to the house, we could see a garden with green things the size of baseballs hanging from the vines. 　　"What’s that?” I said. 　　“How should I know?” she said. "Squash, maybe. I don’t have a clue.” 　　"Hey, Fran,” I said. "Take it easy." 　　She didn't say anything. She drew in her lower lip and let it go. She turned off the radio as we got close to the house. 　　A baby's swing-set stood in the front yard and some toys lay on the porch. I pulled up in front and stopped the car. It was then that we heard this awful squall. There was a baby in the house, right, but this cry was too loud for a baby. 　　"What’s that sound?”Fran said. 　　Then something as big as a vulture flapped heavily down from one of the trees and landed just in front of the car. It shook itself. It turned its long neck toward the car, raised its head, and regarded us. 　　“Goddamn it" I said. I sat there with my hands on the wheel and stared at the thing. 　　“Can you believe it?" Fran said. “I never saw a real one before.” 　　We both knew it was a peacock, sure, but we didn’t say the word out loud. We just watched it. The bird turned its head up in the air and made this harsh cry again. It had fluffed itself out and looked about twice the size it’d been when it landed. 　　”Goddamn,” I sad again. We stayed where we were in the front seat. 　　The bird moved forward a little. Then it turned its head to the side and braced itself. It kept its bright, wild eye right on us. Its tail was raised, and it was like a big fan folding in and out. There was every color in the rainbow shining from that tail. 　　"My Cod,” Fran said quietly. She moved her hand over to my knee. 　　"Goddamn,” I said. There was nothing else to say. 　　The bird made this strange walling sound once more. "may-awe, may-awe!" it went. If it'd been something I was hearing late at night and for the first time, I'd have thought it was somebody dying, or else something wild and dangerous. 　　The front door opened and Bud came out on the porch. He was buttoning his shirt. His hair was wet. It looked like he’d just come from the shower. 　　"Shut yourself up, Joey!" he said to the peacock. He clapped his hands at the bird, and the thing moved back a little. "That’s enough now. That’s right, shut up! You shut up, you old devil!” Bud came down the steps. He tucked in his shirt as he came over to the car. He was wearing what he always wore to work-blue jeans and a denim shirt. I had on my slacks and a short-sleeved sport shirt. My good loafers. When I saw what Bud was weaning, I didn't like it that I was dressed up. 　　"Glad you could make it,” Bud said as he came over beside the car. . “Come on inside.” 　　"Hey, Bud,” I said. 　　Fran and I got out of the car. The peacock stood off a little to one side, dodging its mean-looking head this way and that. We were careful to keep some distance between it and us. 　　“Any trouble finding the place?" Bud said to me. He hadn’t looked at Fran. He was waiting to be introduced. 　　“Good directions, " I said. “Hey, Bud, this is Fran. Fran, Bud. She’s got the word on you, Bud. " 　　He laughed and they shook hands. Fran was taller than Bud. Bud had to look up. 　　“He talks about you," Fran said. She took her hand back. "Bud this, Bud that. You're about the only person down there he talks about. I feel like I know you." She was keeping an eye on the peacock. It had moved over near the porch. 　　"This here's my friend,” Bud said. “He ought to talk about me.” Bud said this and then he grinned and gave me a little punch on the arm. 　　Fran went on holding her loaf of bread. She didn’t know what to do with it. She gave it to Bud. "We brought you something.” 　　Bud took the loaf. He turned it over and looked at it as if it was the first loaf of bread he'd ever seen. "This is real nice of you.” He brought the loaf up to his face and sniffed it. 　　“Fran baked that bread,” I told Bud. 　　Bud nodded. Then he said, "let’s go inside and meet the wife and mother.” 　　He was talking about Olla, sure. Olla was the only mother around. Bud had told me his own mother was dead and that his dad had pulled out when Bud was a kid. 　　The peacock scuttled ahead of us, then hopped onto the porch when Bud opened the door. It was trying to get inside the house. 　　“Oh, " said Fran as the peacock pressed itself against her leg. 　　“Joey, goddamn it,” Bud said. He thumped the bird on the top of its head. The peacock backed up on the porch and shook itself. The quills in its train rattled as it shook. Bud made as if to kick it, and the peacock backed up some more. Then Bud held the door for us. .”She lets the goddamn thing in the house. Before long, it'll be wanting to eat at the goddamn table and sleep in the goddamn bed." 　　Fran stopped just inside the door. She looked back at the cornfield. “You have a nice place,” she said. Bud was still holding the door. "Don’t they, Jack?” 　　“You bet,” I said. I was surprised to hear her say it. 　　“A place like this is not all it's cracked up to be,” Bud said, still holding the door. He made a threatening move toward the peacock. “Keeps you going. Never a dull moment." Then he said, “Step on inside, folks.” 　　I said, “Hey, Bud, what's that growing there?” 　　“Them’s tomatoes, " Bud said. 　　“Some farmer I got,” Fran said, and shook her head. 　　Bud laughed. We went inside. This plump little woman with her hair done up in a bun was waiting for us in the living room. She had her hands rolled up in her apron. The cheeks of her face were bright red. I thought at first she might be out of breath, or else mad at something. She gave me the once-over, and then her eyes went to Fran. Not unfriendly, just looking. She stared at Fran and continued to blush. 　　Bud said, "Olla, this is Fran. And this is my friend Jack. You know all about Jack. Folks, this is Olla." He handed Olla the bread. 　　"What’s this?" she said. "Oh, it's homemade bread. Well, thanks. Sit down anywhere. Make yourselves at home. Bud, why don’t you ask them what they’d like to drink. I've got something on the stove.” Olla said that and went back into the kitchen with the bread. 　　“Have a seat," Bud said. Fran and I plunked ourselves down on the sofa. I reached for my cigarettes. Bud said, "Here’s an ashtray.” He picked up something heavy from the top of the TV. "Use this, "he said, and he put the thing down on the coffee table in front of me. It was one of those glass ashtrays made to look like a swan. I lit up and dropped the match into the opening in the swan's back. I watched a little wisp of smoke drift out of the swan. 　　The color TV was going, so we looked at that for a minute. On the screen, stock cars were tearing around a track. The announcer talked in a grave voice. But it was like he was holding back some excitement, too. “We’re still waiting to have official confirmation,” the announcer said. 　　“You want to watch this?" Bud said. He was still sanding. 　　I said I didn't cal. And I didn’t. Fran shrugged. What difference could it make to her? She seemed to say. The day was shot anyway. 　　“There’s only about twenty laps left" Bud said. "It's close now. There was a: big pile-up earlier. Knocked out half-a-dozen cars. Some drivers got hurt. They haven't said yet how bad.” 　　“Leave it on," I said. "Let’s watch it." 　　"Maybe one of those damn cars will explode right in front of us,” Fran said. “Or else maybe one'll run up into the grandstand and smash the guy selling the crummy hot dogs.” She took a strand of hair between her fingers and kept her eyes fixed on the TV. 　　Bud looked at Fran to see if she was kidding. "That other business, that pile-up, was something. One thing led to another. Cars, parts of cars, people all over the place. Well, what can I get you? We have ale, and there's a bottle of Old Crow.” 　　"What are you drinking?” I said to Bud. 　　"Ale,' Bud said. "It's good and cold." 　　“I'll lave ale," I said. 　　"I'll have some of that Old Crow and a little water," Fran said. "In a tall glass, please. With some ice. Thank you, Bud. " 　　"Can do," Bud said. He threw another look at the TV and moved off to the kitchen. 　　 　　 　　 　　Fran nudged me and nodded in the direction of the TV. “Look up on top,” she whispered. "Do you see what I see.” I looked at where she was looking. There was a slender red vase into which somebody had stuck a few garden daisies. Next to the vase, on the doily, sat an old plaster-of-Paris cast of the most crooked, jaggedy teeth in the world. There were no lips to the awful-looking thing, and no jaw either, just these old plaster teeth packed into something that resembled thick yellow gums. 　　Just then Olla came back with a can of mixed nuts and a bottle of root beer. She had her apron off now. She put the can of nuts onto the coffee table next to the swan. She said, "Help yourselves. Bud's getting your drinks.” Olla’s face came on red again as she said this. She sat down in an old cane rocking chair and set it in motion. She drank from her root beer and looked at the TV. Bud came back carrying a little wooden tray with Fran’s glass of whiskey and water and my bottle of ale. He had a bottle of ale on the tray for himself. 　　"You want a glass?” he asked me. 　　I shook my head. He tapped me on the knee and turned to Fran. 　　She took her glass from Bud and said,”Thanks.” Her eyes went to the teeth again. Bud saw where she was looking. The cars screamed around the track. I took the ale and gave my attention to the screen. The teeth were none of my business. "Them’s what Olla's teeth looked like before she had her braces put on," Bud said to Fran. “I've got used to them. But I guess they look funny up there. For the life of me, I don't know why she keeps them around." He looked over at Olla. Then he looked at me and winked. He sat down in his La-Z-Boy and crossed one leg over the other. He drank from his ale and gazed at Olla. 　　Olla turned red once more. She was holding her bottle of root beer. She took a drink of it. Then she said, “They’re to remind me how much I owe Bud." 　　"What was that?" Fran said. She was picking through the can of nuts, helping herself to the cashews. Fran stopped what she was doing and looked at Olla. "Sorry, but I missed that." Fran stared at the woman and waited for whatever thing it was she'd say next. 　　Olla's face turned red again. "I've got lots of things to be thankful," she said. “That’s one of the things I'm thankful for. I keep them round to remind me how much I owe Bud.” She drank from her root beer. Then she lowered the bottle and said, "You’ve got pretty teeth, Fran. I noticed right away. But these teeth of mine, they came in crooked when I was a kid.” With her fingernail, she tapped a couple of her front teeth. She said, “My folks couldn't afford to fix teeth. These teeth of mine came in just any which way. My first husband didn't care what I looked like. No, he didn't! He didn't care about anything except where his next drink was coming from. He had one friend only in this world, and that was his bottle.” She shook her head. "Then Bud come along and got me out of that mess. After we were together, the first thing Bud said was, 'we're going to have them teeth fixed.’ That mold was made right after Bud and I met, on the occasion of my second visit to the orthodontist. Right before the braces went on.” 　　Olla's face stayed red. She looked at the picture on the screen. She drank from her root beer and didn’t seem to have any more to say. 　　“That orthodontist must have been a whiz,” Fran said. She looked back at the horror-show teeth on top of the TV. 　　"He was great, Olla said. She turned in her chair and said, “See?” She opened her mouth and showed us her teeth once more, not a bit shy now. 　　Bud had gone to the TV and picked up the teeth. He walled over to Olla and held them up against Olla's cheek. "Before and after,” Bud said. 　　Olla reached up and took the mold from Bud. "You know something? That orthodontist wanted to keep this.” She was holding it in her lap while she talked. "I said nothing doing. I pointed out to him they were my teeth. So he took pictures of the mold instead. He told me he was going to put the pictures in a magazine.” 　　Bud said, “Imagine what kind of magazine they’d be. Not much call for that kind of publication, I don't think," he said, and we all laughed. 　　“After I got the braces off, I kept putting my hand up to my mouth when I laughed. Like this," she said. “Sometimes I still do it. Habit. One day Bud said, 'You can stop doing that anytime, Olla. You don't have to hide teeth as pretty as that. You have nice teeth now.'“ Olla looked over at Bud. Bud winked at her. She grinned and lowered her eyes. 　　Fran drank from her glass. I took some of my ale. I didn’t know what to say to this. Neither did Fran. But I knew Fran would have plenty to say about it later. 　　I said, “Olla, I called here once. You answered the phone. But I hung up. I don't know why I hung up.” I said that and then sipped my ale. I didn’t' know why I'd brought it up now. 　　"I don't remember," Olla said. "When was that?” 　　"A while back.” 　　"I don't remember,'” she said and shook her head. She fingered the plaster teeth in her lap. She looked at the race and went back to rocking. 　　Fran turned her eyes to me. She drew her lip under. But she didn’t say anything. 　　Bud said, "Well, what else is new?" 　　"Have some more nuts,” Olla said. “Supper will be ready in a little while." 　　There was a cry from a room in the back of the house. 　　"Not him, "Olla said to Bud, and made a face. 　　"Old Junior boy," Bud said. He leaned back to his chair, and we watched the rest of the race, three or four laps, no sound. 　　Once or twice we heard the baby again, little fretful cries coming from the room in the back of the house. 　　“I don't know,” Olla said. She got up from her chair. “Everything’s about ready for us to sit down. I just have to take up the gravy. But I'd better look in on him first. Why don’t you folks go out and sit down at the table? I'll just be a minute.” 　　"I'd like to see the baby,” Fran said. 　　Olla was still holding the teeth. She went over and put them back on top of the TV. "It might upset him just now," she said. "He’s not used to strangers. Wait and see if I can get him back to sleep. Then you can peek in. While he's asleep.” She said this and then she went down the hall to a room, where she opened a door. She eased in and shut the door behind her. The baby stopped crying. 　　 　　 　　 　　 　　Bud killed the picture and we went in to sit at the table. Bud and I talked about things at work. Fran listened. Now and then she even asked a question. But I could tell she was bored, and maybe feeling put out with Olla for not leaning her see the baby. She looked around Olla's kitchen. She wrapped a strand of lair around her angers and checked out Olla's things. 　　Olla came back into the kitchen and said, "I changed him and gave him his rubber duck. Maybe he'll let us eat now. But don’t bet on it.” She raised a lid and took a pan off the stove. She poured red gravy into a bowl and put the bowl on the table. She took lids of some other pots and looked to see that everything was ready. On the table were baked ham, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, lima beans, corn on the cob, salad greens. Fran’s loaf of bread was in a prominent place next to the ham. 　　“I forgot the napkins, " Olla said.” You all get started. Who wants what to drink? Bud drinks milk with all of his meals.” 　　"Milk’s fine, "I said. 　　“Water for me,” Fran said. “But I can get it. I don’t want you waiting on me. You have enough to do.” She made as if to get up from her chair. 　　Olla said, “Please. You're company. Sit still. Let me get it.” She was blushing again. 　　We sat with our hands in our laps and waited. I thought about those plaster teeth. Olla came back with napkins, big glasses of milk for Bud and me, and a glass of ice water for Fran. Fran said, "Thanks.” 　　 "You're welcome,” Olla said. Then she seated herself. Bud cleared his throat. He bowed his head and said a few words of grace. He talked in a voice so low I could hardly make out the words. But I got the drift of things--he was thanking the Higher Power for the food we were about to put away. 　　"Amen,” Olla said when he'd finished. 　　Bud passed me the platter of ham and helped himself to some mashed potatoes. We got down to it then. We didn’t say much except now and then Bud or I would say, "this is real good ham.” Or, “This sweet corn is the best sweet corn I ever ate.” 　　“This bread is what’s special, " Olla said. 　　“I'll have some more salad, please, Olla," Fran said, softening up may be a little. 　　"Have more of this,’ Bud would say as he passed me the platter of ham, or else the bowl of red gravy. 　　From time to time, we heard the baby make its noise. Olla would turn her head to listen, then, satisfied it was just fussing. She would give her attention back to her food. 　　“The baby's out of sorts tonight, " Olla said to Bud. 　　“I'd still like to see him,” Fran said. “My sister has a little baby. But she and the baby live in Denver. When will I ever get to Denver? I have a niece I haven’t even seen.” Fran thought about this for a minute, and then she went back to eating. 　　Olla forked some ham into her mouth. “Let’s hope he'll drop off to sleep,” she said. 　　Bud said, “There’s a lot more of everything. Have some more ham and sweet potatoes everybody." 　　"I can't eat another bite, "Fran said. She laid her fork on her plate. “It's great, but I can't eat any more.” 　　"Save room, "Bud said. “Olla's made rhubarb pie.” 　　Fran said, “I guess I could eat a little piece of that. When everybody else is ready." 　　“Me, too," I said. But I said it to be polite. I'd hated rhubarb pie since I was thirteen years old and had got sick on it, eating it with strawberry ice cream. 　　We finished what was on our plates. Then we heard that damn peacock again. The thing was on the roof this time. We could hear it over our heads. It made a ticking sound as it walked back and forth on the shingles. 　　Bud shook his head. "Joey will knock it off in a minute. He'll get tired and turn in pretty soon,” Bud said. "He sleeps in one of them trees." 　　The bind let go with its cry once more. “May-awe" it went. Nobody said anything. What was there to say? 　　Then Olla said,”He wants in, Bud.” 　　"Well, he can't come in,” Bud said. "We got company, in case you hadn't noticed. These people don’t want a goddamn old bird in the house. That dirty bird and your old pair of teeth! What're people going to think?" He shook his head. He laughed. We all laughed. Fran laughed along with the rest of us. 　　“He's not dirty, Bud," Olla said. "What's gotten into you? You like Joey. Since when did you start calling him dirty?” 　　“Since he shit on the rug that time, " Bud said. “Pardon the French," he said to Fran. "But, I'll tell you, sometimes I could wring that old bird’s neck for him. He's not even worth killing, is he, Olla? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he'll bring me up out of bed with that cry of his. He’s not worth a nickel --right, Olla?” 　　Olla shook her head at Bud's nonsense. She moved a few lima beans around on her plate. 　　”How'd you get a peacock in the first place?” Fran wanted to know. 　　Olla looked up from her plate. She said, “I always dreamed of having me a peacock. Since I was a girl and found a picture of one in a magazine. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I cut the picture out and put it over my bed. I kept that picture for the longest time. Then when Bud and I got this place, I saw my chance. I said, 'Bud, I want a peacock.' Bud laughed at the idea.” 　　“I finally asked around,” Bud said. “I heard tell of an old boy who raised them over in the next county. Birds of paradise, he called them. We paid a hundred bucks for that bird of paradise,” he said. He smacked his forehead. "God Almighty, I got me a woman with expensive tastes." He grinned at Olla. 　　“Bud,” Olla said, "You know that isn't true. Besides everything else, Joey’s a good watchdog,” she said to Fran. "We don’t need a watchdog with Joey. He can hear just about anything.” 　　"If times get tough, as they might, I'll put Joey in a pot," Bud said. “Feathers and all" 　　“Bud! That's not funny,” Olla said. But she laughed and we got a good look at her teeth again. 　　The baby started up once more. It was serious crying this time. Olla put down her napkin and got up from the table. 　　Bud said, “If it's not one thing, it's another. Bring him on out here, Olla. " 　　 　　 　　 　　The peacock wailed again, and I could feel the hair on the back of my neck. I looked at Fran. She picked up her napkin and then put it down. I looked toward the kitchen window. It was dark outside. The window was raised, and there was a screen in the frame. I thought I heard the bird on the front porch. 　　Fran turned her eyes to look down the hall. She was watching for Olla and the baby. 　　After a time, Olla came back with it. I looked at the baby and drew a breath. Olla sat down at the table with the baby. She held it up under its arms so it could stand on her lap and face us. She looked at Fran and then at me. She wasn't blushing now. She waited for one of us to comment. 　　”Ah,” said Fran. 　　"What is it?" Olla said quickly. 　　“Nothing, " Fran said. I thought I saw something at the window. I thought I saw a bat.” 　　"We don't have any bats around here,” Olla said. 　　“Maybe it was a moth, " Fran said. “It was something. Well,” she said. “Isn't that some baby." 　　Bud was looking at the baby. Then he looked over at Fran. He tipped his chair onto its back legs and nodded. He nodded again, and said, "That's all right, don’t worry any. We know he wouldn't win no beauty contests right now. He's no Clark Gable. But give him time. With any luck, you know, he'll grow up to look like his old man. " 　　The baby stood in Olla's lap, looking around the table at us. Olla had moved her hands down to its middle so that the baby could rock back and forth on its fat legs. Bar none, it was the ugliest baby I'd ever seen. It was so ugly I couldn’t say anything. No words would come out of my mouth. I don't men it was diseased or disfigured. Nothing like that. It was just ugly. It had a big red face, pop eyes, a broad forehead, and these big fat lips. It had no neck to speak of, and it had three or four fat chins. Its chins rolled right up under its ears, and its ears stuck out from its bald head. Fat hung over its wrists. Its arms and fingers were fat. Even calling it ugly does it credit. 　　 　　 　　 　　The ugly baby made its noise and jumped up and down on its mother's lap. Then it stopped jumping. It leaned forward and tried to reach its fat hand into Olla's plate. 　　I've seen babies. When I was growing up, my two sisters had a total of six babies. I was around babies a lot when I was a kid. I've seen babies in stores and so on. But this baby beat anything. Fran stared at it, too. I guess she didn't know what to say either. 　　“He's a big fellow, isn’t he?" I said. 　　Bud said, “He'll by God be turning out for football before long. He sure as hell won't go without meals around this house.” 　　As if to make sure of this, Olla plunged her fork into some sweet potatoes and brought the fork up to the baby's mouth. “He's my baby, isn’t he?” she said to the fat thing, ignoring us. 　　The baby leaned forward and opened up for the sweet potatoes. It reached for Olla’s fork as she guided the sweet potatoes into its mouth, then clamped down. The baby chewed the stuff and rocked some more on Olla's lap. It was so pop-eyed, it was like it was plugged into something. 　　Fran sad, "He’s some baby, Olla.” 　　The baby's face screwed up. It began to fuss all over again. 　　"Let Joey in, "Olla said to Bud. 　　Bud let the legs of his chair come down on the floor. "I think we should at least ask these people if they mind,” Bud said. 　　Olla looked at Fran and then she looked at me. Her face had gone red again. The baby kept prancing in her lap, squirming to get down. 　　"We're friends here,” I said. "Do whatever you want." 　　Bud said, "Maybe they don't want a big old bird like Joey in the house. Did you ever think of that, Olla?” 　　"Do you folks mind?" Olla said to us. “If Joey comes inside? Things got headed in the wrong direction with that bird tonight. The baby, too, I think. He's used to having Joey come in and fool around with him a little before his bedtime. Neither of them can settle down tonight. " 　　"Don't ask us,” Fran said. . 'I don't mind if he comes in. I've never been up close to one before. But I don't mind.” She looked at me. I suppose I could tell she wanted me to say something. 　　“Hell, no," I said. “Let him in.” I picked up my glass and finished the milk. 　　Bud got up from his chair. He went to the front door and opened it. He flicked on the yard lights. 　　"What's your baby's name?" Fran wanted to know. 　　"Harold," Olla said. She gave Harold some more sweet potatoes from her plate. "He's real smart. Sharp as a tack. Always knows what you’re saying to him. Don’t you, Harold? You wait until you get your own baby, Fran. You’ll see.” 　　Fran just looked at her. I heard the front door open and then close, 　　“He's smart, all right, " Bud said as he came back into the kitchen.”He takes after Olla's dad. Now there was one smart old boy for you” 　　 　　 　　 　　I looked around behind Bud and could see that peacock hanging back in the living room, turning its head this way and that, like you'd turn a hand mirror. It shook itself, and the sound was like a deck of cards being shuffled in the other room. 　　It moved forward a step. Then another step. 　　“Can I hold the baby?" Fran said. She said it like it would be a favor if Olla would let her. 　　Olla handed the baby across the table to her. 　　Fran tried to get the baby settled in her lap. But the baby began to squirm and make its noises. 　　“Harold,” Fran said. 　　Olla watched Fran with the baby. She said, “When Harold's grandpa was sixteen years old, he set out to read the encyclopedia from A to Z. He did it too. He finished when he was twenty. Just before he met my mama.” 　　 　　“Where's he now?" I asked. “What’s he do?" I wanted to know what had become of a man who'd set himself a goal like that. 　　“He's dead," Olla said. She was watching Fran, who by now had the baby down on its back and across her knees. Fran chuckled the baby under one of its chins. She started to talk baby talk to it. 　　"He worked in the woods,” Bud said. "Loggers dropped a tree on him.” 　　"Mama got some insurance money,” Olla said. “But she spent that. Bud sends her something every month. " 　　“Not much,” Bud said. “Don't have much ourselves. But she’s Olla's mother.” 　　By this time, the peacock had gathered its courage and was beginning to move slowly, with little swaying and jerking motions, into the kitchen. Its head was erect but at an angle, its red eyes fixed on us. Its crest, a little sprig of feathers, stood a few inches over its head. Plumes rose from its tail. The bird stopped a few feet away from the table and looked us over. 　　"They don’t call them birds of paradise for nothing,” Bud said. 　　Fran didn't look up. She was giving all her attention to the baby. She'd begun to patty-cake with it, which pleased the baby somewhat. I mean, at least the thing had stopped fussing. She brought it up to her neck and whispered something into its ear. 　　“Now," she said, "Don’t tell anyone what I said." 　　The baby stared at her with its pop eyes. Then it reached and got itself a baby handful of Franks blond hair. The peacock stepped closer to the table. None of us said anything. We just sat still. Baby Harold saw the bird. It let go of Fran’s hair and stood up on her lap. It pointed its fat fingers at the bird. It jumped up and down and made noises. 　　The peacock walked quickly around the table and went for the baby. It ran its long neck across the baby's legs. It pushed its beak in under the baby’s panama top and shook its stiff head back and forth. The baby laughed and kicked its feet. Scooting onto its back, the baby worked its way over Fran’s knees and down onto the floor. The peacock kept pushing against the baby, as if it was a game they were playing. Fran held the baby against her legs while the baby strained forward. 　　"I just don't believe this,” she said. 　　"That peacock is crazy, that’s what,” Bud said. “Damn bird doesn’t know it's a bird, that's its major trouble." 　　Olla grinned and showed her teeth again. She looked over at Bud. Bud pushed his chair away from the table and nodded. 　　It was an ugly baby. But, for all I know I guess it didn't matter that much to Bud and Olla. Or if it did, maybe they simply thought: So okay if it's ugly. It's our baby. And this is just a stage. Pretty soon there'll be anther stage. There is this stage and then there is the next stage. Things will be okay in the long run, once all the stages have been gone through. They might have thought something like that. 　　Bud picked up the baby and swung him over his head until Harold shrieked. The peacock rued its feathers and watched. 　　Fran shook her head again. She smoothed out her dress where the baby had been. Olla picked up her fork and was working at some lima beans on her plate. 　　Bud shifted the baby onto his hip and said, "There’s pie and coffee yet." 　　That evening at Bud and Olla's was special. I knew it was special That evening I feh good about almost everything in my life. I couldn't wait to be alone with Fran to talk to her about what I was feeling. I made a wish that evening. Sitting there at the table, I closed my eyes for a minute and thought hard. What I wished for was that I'd never forget or otherwise let go of that evening. That's one wish of mine that came true. And it was bad luck for me that it did. But of course, I couldn't know that then. 　　"What are you thinking about, Jack?" Bud said to me. 　　"I'm just thinking,” I said. I grinned at him. 　　“A penny,” Olla said. 　　I just grinned some more and shook my head. 　　 　　 　　 　　After we got home from Bud and Olla’s that night, and we were under the covers, Fran said, "Honey, fill me up with your seed!” When she said that I heard her all the way down t to my toes, and I hollered and let go. 　　Later, after things had changed for us, and the kid had come along, all of that, Fran would look back on that evening at Bud's place as the beginning of the change. But she's wrong. The change came later—and when it came, it was like something that happened to other people, nor something that could have happened to us. 　　"Goddamn those people and their ugly baby," Fran will say, for no apparent reason, while we're watching TV late at night. "And that smelly bird,” she'll say. "Christ, who needs it!" Fran will say. She says this kind of stuff a lot, even though she hasn’t seen Bud and Olla since that one time. 　　Fran doesn’t work at the creamery anymore, and she cut her hair a long time ago. She's gotten fat on me, too. We don't talk about it. What’s to say? 　　I still see Bud at the plant. We work together and we open our lunch pails together. If I ask, he tells me about Olla and Harold. Joey's out of the picture. He flew into his tree one night and that was it for him. He didn’t come down. Old age, maybe, Bud says. Then the owls took over. Bud shrugs. He eats his sandwich and says Harold's going to be a linebacker someday. "You ought to see that kid," Bud says. I nod. We're still friends. That hasn’t changed any. But I've gotten careful with what I say co him. And I know he feels that and wishes it could be different. I wish it could be, too. 　　Once in a blue moon, he asks about my family. When he does, I tell him everybody's fine. "everybody’s fine,' ,I say. I close the lunch pail and take out my cigarettes. Bud nods and sips his coffee. The truth is, my kid has a conniving streak in him. But I don’t talk about it. Not even with his mother. Especially her. She and I talk less and less as it is. Mostly it’s just the TV. But I remember that night. I recall the way the peacock picked up its gray feet and inched around the table. And then my friend and his wife saying good night to us on the porch. Olla giving Fran some peacock feathers to take home. I remember all of us shaking hands, hugging each other, saying things. In the cu, Fran sat close to me as we drove away. She kept her hand on my leg. We drove home like that from my friend’s house.

[此帖子已经被作者于[lastedittime]1195693540[/lastedittime]编辑过]

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猫头鹰

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2^#

发表于 2007-11-9 16:45:31 |只看该作者

哎……读原文总是觉得在做“英语阅读理解”。

[此帖子已经被作者于[lastedittime]1194598098[/lastedittime]编辑过]

I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ^^^

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毛大头

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发表于 2007-11-11 15:35:03 |只看该作者

为什么有些书就买不到，我干

拉屎就像写小说

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牛丸的苦问

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发表于 2007-11-21 14:48:31 |只看该作者

卡佛的那本爱问上有下载

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穆楚

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论坛游民

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发表于 2007-11-21 14:59:04 |只看该作者

<div class="msgheader">QUOTE:</div><div class="msgborder">以下是引用毛大头在2007-11-11 15:35:03的发言： 为什么有些书就买不到，我干</div>卡佛的书只看到九几年好象是花城出了一本《你是圣弗朗西斯科做什么》，其他都没找到过。

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