Everyone looked at Dad. His expression was folded, impassive. The silence was worse than shouting.
每个人都看着爸爸。他面无表情。沉默比吼叫更可怕。
The mountain thawed and the Princess appeared on its face, her head brushing the sky. It was Sunday, a month after the accident, and everyone had gathered in the living room. Dad had begun to expound a scripture when Tyler cleared his throat and said he was leaving.
山雪融化，印第安公主在山的正面显现，她的头擦着天空。那场车祸一个月后的一个星期天，全家人聚在起居室里。爸爸开始讲解《圣经》时，泰勒清了清嗓子，他说他要离开了。
Tyler would be the third of my brothers to leave home. My oldest brother, Tony, drove rigs, hauling gravel or scrap, trying to scrape together enough money to marry the girl down the road. Shawn, the next oldest, had quarreled with Dad a few months before and taken off. I hadn’t seen him since, though Mother got a hurried call every few weeks telling her he was fine, that he was welding or driving rigs. If Tyler left too, Dad wouldn’t have a crew, and without a crew he couldn’t build barns or hay sheds. He would have to fall back on scrapping.
泰勒将是我的哥哥们中第三个离开家的。我大哥托尼开拖拉机运碎石和废品，正在为娶妻努力攒钱。二哥肖恩几个月前和爸爸吵了一架，离开了家。此后我就没见过他了，但母亲每隔几周会接到他匆忙打来的电话，他在电话里告诉她他很好，正在做焊接或开拖拉机。如果泰勒也走了，爸爸就凑不够一个小工队了，也就没法去给人家盖谷仓或干草棚了。他将不得不重操拆解废料的老本行。
“I’m g-g-going to c-college,” he said, his face rigid. A vein in his neck bulged as he forced the words out, appearing and disappearing every few seconds, a great, struggling snake.
“我要去…去上大…大学。”他说，面容僵硬。他费力地吐出这些话时，脖子上一根血管鼓起，一会儿显现，一会儿消失，像一条挣扎扭动的大蛇。
Mother said Dad was wasting his time, that nobody could talk Tyler out of anything once his mind was made up. “You may as well take a broom and start sweeping dirt off the mountain,” she said. Then she stood, took a few moments to steady herself, and trudged downstairs.
母亲说爸爸是在浪费时间，一旦泰勒下定决心，没人能说服他回转心意。“你这是在用扫帚扫山上的灰。”[6]说着，她站了起来，先花几分钟稳住身体，然后艰难地下楼。【注：[6]意指“不可能的任务，白费口舌”。】
He listened to Dad, who settled into a lecture. “There’s two kinds of them college professors,” Dad said. “Those who know they’re lying, and those who think they’re telling the truth.” Dad grinned. “Don’t know which is worse, come to think of it, a bona fide agent of the Illuminati, who at least knows he’s on the devil’s payroll, or a high-minded professor who thinks his wisdom is greater than God’s.” He was still grinning. The situation wasn’t serious; he just needed to talk some sense into his son.
他在听爸爸发表长篇大论。“大学教授有两种，”爸爸说，“一种知道自己在说谎，另一种认为自己在说真话。”爸爸咧嘴一笑，“不知道哪种更糟糕，想想看吧，一种是光明会的金牌代理人，至少知道自己拿的是魔鬼的工资，另一种甚是傲慢，自认为比上帝更有智慧。”他依然咧着嘴笑。形势并不严峻；他只需给儿子讲一些道理。
“What’s college?” I said.
“什么是大学？”我问。
“College is extra school for people too dumb to learn the first time around,” Dad said. Tyler stared at the floor, his face tense. Then his shoulders dropped, his face relaxed and he looked up; it seemed to me that he’d stepped out of himself. His eyes were soft, pleasant. I couldn’t see him in there at all.
“大学就是给那些太过蠢笨、在第一轮学不会的人额外开设的学校。”爸爸说道。泰勒盯着地板，脸孔紧绷。接着他垂下肩膀，面容舒展，抬起了头。在我看来，他的自我似已出离。他的目光柔和又可爱，我完全无法从那眼神中认出他。
An hour later Dad was no longer grinning. Tyler had not repeated his wish to go to college, but he had not promised to stay, either. He was just sitting there, behind that vacant expression, riding it out. “A man can’t make a living out of books and scraps of paper,” Dad said. “You’re going to be the head of a family. How can you support a wife and children with books?”
一个小时后，爸爸不再咧嘴笑了。泰勒没有再提他上大学的愿望，但也没答应留下来。他只是出神地坐在那里，安然承受。“一个男人不可能靠书本和废纸为生，”爸爸说，“你以后会成为一家之主。你靠书本怎么养活老婆孩子呢？”
She had a migraine. She nearly always had a migraine. She was still spending her days in the basement, coming upstairs only after the sun had gone down, and even then she rarely stayed more than an hour before the combination of noise and exertion made her head throb. I watched her slow, careful progress down the steps, her back bent, both hands gripping the rail, as if she were blind and had to feel her way. She waited for both feet to plant solidly on one step before reaching for the next. The swelling in her face was nearly gone, and she almost looked like herself again, except for the rings, which had gradually faded from black to dark purple, and were now a mix of lilac and raisin.
她得了偏头痛。她几乎总是偏头痛。她仍然在地下室里度日，直到太阳落山后才上楼，之后也很少能待过一个小时，因为嘈杂和劳累的双重折磨让她头痛欲裂。我看着她慢慢地、小心翼翼地走下楼梯，弯着腰，双手紧抓栏杆，仿佛是个盲人，不得不摸索着前行。她等着双脚都稳稳地站在一个台阶上，然后再去够下一级。她脸上的浮肿差不多消失了，几乎恢复了原来的模样，只是黑眼圈仍在，从黑色逐渐褪成深紫色，现在变成一种紫丁香和葡萄干的混合色。
Tyler tilted his head, showed he was listening, and said nothing.
泰勒歪着头，表示他在听，但什么也没说。
“A son of mine, standing in line to get brainwashed by socialists and Illuminati spies –“
“我的儿子，竟然排着队等着被无神论者和光明会间谍洗脑…”
“The s-s-school’s run by the ch-ch-church,” Tyler interrupted. “How b-bad can it b-be?”
“学…学校是教…教堂开的，”泰勒打断他的话，“能坏…坏到哪里去呢？”
The story of how Tyler decided to leave the mountain is a strange one, full of gaps and twists. It begins with Tyler himself, with the bizarre fact of him. It happens sometimes in families: one child who doesn’t fit, whose rhythm is off, whose meter is set to the wrong tune. In our family, that was Tyler. He was waltzing while the rest of us hopped a jig; he was deaf to the raucous music of our lives, and we were deaf to the serene polyphony of his.
泰勒是怎么决定离开这座山的，这是个离奇的故事，充满缺口和曲折。故事从泰勒本人开始，他性情古怪，这是事实。这种情况发生在很多家庭里：某个孩子格格不入，跟不上节奏，合不上拍子。在我们家，泰勒就是那个孩子。我们其余人跳吉格舞，而他跳的是华尔兹；他对我们生活中喧闹的音乐充耳不闻，我们也听不见他宁静的复调。
I will always remember my father in this moment, the potency of him, and the desperation. He leans forward, jaw set, eyes narrow, searching his son’s face for some sign of agreement, some crease of shared conviction. He doesn’t find it.
我永远忘不了父亲这一刻的样子，强势又绝望。他身体前倾，咬着牙，眼睛眯成一条缝，在儿子的脸上搜寻表示赞同的迹象、共同信念的痕迹，但没有找到。
Dad’s mouth flew open and a gust of air rushed out. “You don’t think the Illuminati have infiltrated the church?” His voice was booming; every word reverberated with a powerful energy. “You don’t think the first place they’d go is that school, where they can raise up a whole generation of socialist Mormons? I raised you better than that!”
爸爸霍地张开嘴，一股气流冲出。“你不觉得光明会已然渗入了教堂吗？”他声如洪钟，有力吐出的每一个字都在回响，“你难道不知道他们第一个去的地方就是学校吗？在学校他们可以培养出整整一代伪摩门教徒。我对你的培养可比那强多了！”
My brothers were like a pack of wolves. They tested each other constantly, with scuffles breaking out every time some young pup hit a growth spurt and dreamed of moving up. When I was young these tussles usually ended with Mother screaming over a broken lamp or vase, but as I got older there were fewer things left to break. Mother said we’d owned a TV once, when I was a baby, until Shawn had put Tyler’s head through it.
我的哥哥们就像一群狼。他们频繁地试探对方，一旦有哪个小点儿的突然长大，梦想着向上爬，便会爆发混战。在我小时候，这些打斗通常以母亲对着打碎的台灯或花瓶尖叫而告终，但随着我渐渐长大，家里能打碎的东西越来越少。母亲说我很小的时候家里有过一台电视机，直到肖恩把泰勒的头按了进去。
Tyler liked books, he liked quiet. He liked organizing and arranging and labeling. Once, Mother found a whole shelf of matchboxes in his closet, stacked by year. Tyler said they contained his pencil shavings from the past five years, which he had collected to make fire starters for our “head for the hills” bags. The rest of the house was pure confusion: piles of unwashed laundry, oily and black from the junkyard, littered the bedroom floors; in the kitchen, murky jars of tincture lined every table and cabinet, and these were only cleared away to make space for even messier projects, perhaps to skin a deer carcass or strip Cosmoline off a rifle. But in the heart of this chaos, Tyler had half a decade’s pencil shavings, cataloged by year.
泰勒喜静，爱看书，喜欢分类、标记、整理。一次，母亲在他的衣橱里发现了整整一架子按照年份堆放的火柴盒。泰勒说里面装着他过去五年攒下的铅笔屑，是他收集来为我们的“上山应急包”作火引用的。家里其他地方乱作一团：卧室地板上堆满了待洗衣物，上面满是来自废料场的油污；厨房里，每张桌子上、每个橱柜里都放着布满灰尘的药酊罐，只在干更脏的活时才把罐子收到一边，比如给一头死鹿剥皮，或者擦拭步枪上的防腐油。但在杂乱的中心，泰勒拥有积攒了五年、按年份分类的铅笔屑。
While his brothers wrestled, Tyler listened to music. He owned the only boom box I had ever seen, and next to it he kept a tall stack of CDs with strange words on them, like “Mozart” and “Chopin.” One Sunday afternoon, when he was perhaps sixteen, he caught me looking at them. I tried to run, because I thought he might wallop me for being in his room, but instead he took my hand and led me to the stack. “W-which one do y-you like best?” he said.
兄弟们扭打起来时，泰勒就听音乐。他拥有我所见过的唯一的音箱，音箱旁边放着一大堆CD，上面写着诸如“莫扎特”和“肖邦”之类的奇怪的词。在他大约十六岁时，一个星期天的下午，我正在看他的CD，被他撞上了。我想跑开，我以为他会因我进他的房间而狠狠揍我一顿，但他却拉过我的手，把我领到那堆东西旁。“你…你最…最喜欢哪一张？”他说。
One was black, with a hundred men and women dressed in white on the cover. I pointed to it. Tyler eyed me skeptically. “Th-th-this is ch-ch-choir music,” he said.
我指了指一张黑色CD，封面上有许多身穿白衣的男男女女。泰勒用疑惑的目光打量着我。“这…这是唱…唱诗班音乐。”他说。
He slipped the disc into the black box, then sat at his desk to read. I squatted on the floor by his feet, scratching designs into the carpet. The music began: a breath of strings, then a whisper of voices, chanting, soft as silk, but somehow piercing. The hymn was familiar to me — we’d sung it at church, a chorus of mismatched voices raised in worship — but this was different. It was worshipful, but it was also something else, something to do with study, discipline and collaboration. Something I didn’t yet understand.
他把碟片塞进黑盒子，然后坐在书桌前开始看书。我蹲在他脚边的地板上，用指甲在地毯上乱画。音乐响起：一阵琴弦的拨动，接着浅吟低唱，如丝绸般轻柔，却不知何故穿透心灵。我熟悉这首赞美诗——我们在教堂唱过，混乱的声音带着虔诚汇聚成大合唱——但这个不同。同样充满虔诚，但里面也有别的东西，与学习、纪律和协作有关。一些我还不懂的东西。
The song ended and I sat, paralyzed, as the next played, and the next, until the CD finished. The room felt lifeless without the music. I asked Tyler if we could listen to it again, and an hour later, when the music stopped, I begged him to restart it. It was very late, and the house quiet, when Tyler stood from his desk and pushed play, saying this was the last time.
歌曲结束了，我呆呆地坐在那里，接下来听了一首又一首，直到CD播完。没有了音乐，房间里显得死气沉沉。我问泰勒我们能不能再听一遍。一个小时后，音乐停了，我又请求他再放一遍。天色已晚，屋里很安静，泰勒从桌旁站起身，按下播放键，说这是最后一次了。
“W-w-we can l-l-listen again tomorrow,” he said.
“我…我们可以明天再听…听。”他说。
Music became our language. Tyler’s speech impediment kept him quiet, made his tongue heavy. Because of that, he and I had never talked much; I had not known my brother. Now, every evening when he came in from the junkyard, I would be waiting for him. After he’d showered, scrubbing the day’s grime from his skin, he’d settle in at his desk and say, “W-w-what shall we l-l-listen t-t-to tonight?” Then I would choose a CD, and he would read while I lay on the floor next to his feet, eyes fixed on his socks, and listened.
音乐成了我们俩的共同语言。因为口吃，泰勒总是沉默不语，舌头也越发笨重。正因如此，我和他几乎从没说过话，我根本不了解这个哥哥。现在，每天晚上他从废料场回来时，我都在等他。等他洗完澡，搓去身上的污垢，他会到书桌旁坐下，说：“我…我们今…今晚听…听点什么呢？”然后我会选一张CD，而他则开始看书。我躺在他脚边的地板上，盯着他的袜子，侧耳倾听。
I was as rowdy as any of my brothers, but when I was with Tyler I transformed. Maybe it was the music, the grace of it, or maybe it was his grace. Somehow he made me see myself through his eyes. I tried to remember not to shout. I tried to avoid fights with Richard, especially the kind that ended with the two of us rolling on the floor, him pulling my hair, me dragging my fingernails through the softness of his face.
我和我的那些哥哥们一样吵闹，但和泰勒在一起时，我变了。也许是音乐的魅力，也许是他的魅力。不知为何，他让我透过他的眼睛看到了自己。我努力提醒自己不要大喊大叫。我尽力避免和理查德打架，尤其避免发生这种情况：最后两人滚在地上，他撕扯着我的头发，我用指甲抓破他的脸。
I should have known that one day Tyler would leave. Tony and Shawn had gone, and they’d belonged on the mountain in a way that Tyler never did. Tyler had always loved what Dad called “book learning,” which was something the rest of us, with the exception of Richard, were perfectly indifferent to.
我早该知道有一天泰勒会离开。托尼和肖恩走了，他们属于这座山，而泰勒从不属于这里。泰勒一直喜欢父亲所说的“书本知识”，而除理查德外，我们其他人对此毫不关心。
There had been a time, when Tyler was a boy, when Mother had been idealistic about education. She used to say that we were kept at home so we could get a better education than other kids. But it was only Mother who said that, as Dad thought we should learn more practical skills. When I was very young, that was the battle between them: Mother trying to hold school every morning, and Dad herding the boys into the junkyard the moment her back was turned.
泰勒小的时候，曾有一段时间，母亲对教育持理想主义态度。她曾说把我们留在家里，是为了让我们获得比其他孩子更好的教育。但只有母亲这么说，因为爸爸认为我们应该学习更多实用技能。我很小的时候，他们两人常常为此而战：母亲每天早上都让我们学习，她一转身，爸爸就把男孩们赶进废料场干活。
But Mother would lose that battle, eventually. It began with Luke, the fourth of her five sons. Luke was smart when it came to the mountain — he worked with animals in a way that made it seem like he was talking to them — but he had a severe learning disability and struggled to learn to read. Mother spent five years sitting with him at the kitchen table every morning, explaining the same sounds again and again, but by the time he was twelve, it was all Luke could do to cough out a sentence from the Bible during family scripture study. Mother couldn’t understand it. She’d had no trouble teaching Tony and Shawn to read, and everyone else had just sort of picked it up. Tony had taught me to read when I was four, to win a bet with Shawn, I think.
但母亲最终会输掉这场战斗。一切要从她五个儿子中的第四个，卢克说起。卢克对山上的事很有一套——他对动物很在行，似乎能与它们交流——但他有严重的学习障碍，学习认字非常吃力。母亲花了五年时间，每天早上陪他坐在餐桌边，一遍又一遍地解释同一个音，但到卢克十二岁时，他也只能在全家人习读经文时勉强读出《圣经》中的一句话。母亲不理解。她毫不费力地教会了托尼和肖恩认字，其他人也都轻松地学会了。我四岁时托尼就教我认字，我想那是为了和肖恩打赌。
Mother’s conversion to Dad’s philosophy was not total, however, and occasionally she was possessed of her old enthusiasm. On those days, when the family was gathered around the table, eating breakfast, Mother would announce that today we were doing school. She kept a bookshelf in the basement, stocked with books on herbalism, along with a few old paperbacks. There were a few textbooks on math, which we shared, and an American history book that I never saw anyone read except Richard. There was also a science book, which must have been for young children because it was filled with glossy illustrations.
然而，母亲并没有完全倒向爸爸的那套理论，她偶尔仍怀有以前的热忱。在那样的日子里，一家人围坐在餐桌旁吃早餐时，母亲会宣布今天我们要“上学”。她在地下室放了一个书架，上面堆满了有关草药学的书和一些旧平装书。其中有几册数学课本供大家共用；一本美国历史书，除了理查德，我从未见其他人读过。还有一本科学书，肯定是幼儿读物，因为里面画满精美的插图。
Once Luke could scratch out his name and read short, simple phrases, Mother turned to math. What math I was ever taught I learned doing the breakfast dishes and listening to Mother explain, over and over, what a fraction is or how to use negative numbers. Luke never made any progress, and after a year Mother gave up. She stopped talking about us getting a better education than other kids. She began to echo Dad. “All that really matters,” she said to me one morning, “is that you kids learn to read. That other twaddle is just brainwashing.” Dad started coming in earlier and earlier to round up the boys until, by the time I was eight, and Tyler sixteen, we’d settled into a routine that omitted school altogether.
等卢克会写自己的名字，读一些简短的词语，母亲便开始教他数学。我的数学知识都是在早餐后洗碗时学到的，听母亲一遍又一遍地解释什么是分数，怎么运用负数。卢克没有取得任何进展，一年后母亲便放弃了。她不再说什么让我们获得更好的教育，而是开始附和爸爸的意见。一天早上，她对我说：“最重要的是，你们这些孩子都能认字了。其他的都是废话，洗脑而已。”爸爸越来越早地赶着男孩们去干活，到我八岁、泰勒十六岁时，我们就都彻底不学习了。
Mother never delivered lectures or administered exams. She never assigned essays. There was a computer in the basement with a program called Mavis Beacon, which gave lessons on typing.
母亲从不讲课或考试，也从不布置作业。地下室有一台电脑，里面有一个叫“马维斯灯塔”的程序，可以用来学习打字。
“Amazing!” she’d say. “You see? That pace would never be possible in the public school. You can only do that at home, where you can sit down and really focus, with no distractions.”
“太厉害了！”她会说，“看见没？这种速度在公立学校是不可能的，只有在家里才能办到。在家你可以坐下来，真正专心致志，没有任何干扰。”
It usually took half an hour to find all the books, then we would divide them up and go into separate rooms to “do school.” I have no idea what my siblings did when they did school, but when I did it I opened my math book and spent ten minutes turning pages, running my fingers down the center fold. If my finger touched fifty pages, I’d report to Mother that I’d done fifty pages of math.
母亲通常花半个小时找齐所有书，然后我们把书分了，各自进房间去“上学”。我不知道哥哥们和姐姐在那期间都干了什么，我总是打开数学书，花十分钟翻书，手指在中间插页上摩挲。如果用手指摸了五十页，我会向母亲汇报，说我看了五十页数学。
Sometimes, when she was delivering herbs, if we’d finished our chores, Mother would drop us at the Carnegie library in the center of town. The basement had a room full of children’s books, which we read. Richard even took books from upstairs, books for adults, with heavy titles about history and science.
有时她去送草药时，如果我们做完了家务，她会顺路把我们送到镇中心的卡内基图书馆。那里的地下室有个房间放满了儿童读物，我们就阅读那些书。理查德甚至从楼上拿了一些成人看的书，它们有着关于历史和科学的沉重标题。
Learning in our family was entirely self-directed: you could learn anything you could teach yourself, after your work was done. Some of us were more disciplined than others. I was one of the least disciplined, so by the time I was ten, the only subject I had studied systematically was Morse code, because Dad insisted that I learn it. “If the lines are cut, we’ll be the only people in the valley who can communicate,” he said, though I was never quite sure, if we were the only people learning it, who we’d be communicating with.
在我们家，学习完全靠自我指导：只要干完自己的活儿，想学什么都可以自学。我们中有的孩子比其他人更有纪律性。我是最散漫的一个，到十岁时，我只系统学过一个科目——摩尔斯电码，因为爸爸坚持要我学。他说：“如果电话线路被切断，我们将是山谷里唯一能进行交流的人。”尽管我也不太确定，如果只有我们学了摩尔斯电码，我们去和谁交流呢。
The older boys — Tony, Shawn and Tyler — had been raised in a different decade, and it was almost as if they’d had different parents. Their father had never heard of the Weavers; he never talked about the Illuminati. He’d enrolled his three oldest sons in school, and even though he’d pulled them out a few years later, vowing to teach them at home, when Tony had asked to go back, Dad had let him. Tony had stayed in school through high school, although he missed so many days working in the junkyard that he wasn’t able to graduate.
年纪最大的几个男孩——托尼、肖恩和泰勒——十年前接受的是另一种教育，仿佛他们曾拥有另一对父母。他们的父亲从未听说韦弗一家的遭遇，也从不谈论光明会。他把三个大儿子送去上学，尽管几年后又把他们从学校里接了出来，发誓说要在家里教他们。当托尼要求重返学校，爸爸也同意了。托尼读完了高中，尽管在废料场干活让他旷课太多，以致最后没能毕业。
Tyler stayed in school that whole year, from the fall of 1991 through the spring of 1992. He learned algebra, which felt as natural to his mind as air to his lungs. Then the Weavers came under siege that August. I don’t know if Tyler would have gone back to school, but I know that after Dad heard about the Weavers, he never again allowed one of his children to set foot in a public classroom. Still, Tyler’s imagination had been captured. With what money he had he bought an old trigonometry textbook and continued to study on his own. He wanted to learn calculus next but couldn’t afford another book, so he went to the school and asked the math teacher for one. The teacher laughed in his face. “You can’t teach yourself calculus,” he said. “It’s impossible.” Tyler pushed back. “Give me a book, I think I can.” He left with the book tucked under his arm.
从一九九一年秋到一九九二年春末，泰勒一整年都在上学。他学了代数，代数之于他的大脑就如空气之于他的肺一样自然。那年八月，韦弗一家遭到围攻。假如没发生那件事，泰勒是否还会重返学校，我不得而知；但我知道，父亲在听说了韦弗一家的遭遇后，再也不允许任何一个孩子踏进学校教室。尽管如此，泰勒的想象力还是被点燃了。他用全部积蓄买了一本旧三角学课本，继续自学。他想接着学微积分，但又没钱再买另一本书了，于是他就到学校去找数学老师要一本。老师当面嘲笑他说：“自学微积分，这是不可能的事。”泰勒不为所动：“给我一本书吧，我想我能自学。”最后他腋下夹着一本书离开了。
Because Tyler was the third son, he barely remembered school and was happy to study at home. Until he turned thirteen. Then, perhaps because Mother was spending all her time teaching Luke to read, Tyler asked Dad if he could enroll in the eighth grade.
泰勒是第三个儿子，他几乎对学校没有记忆，所以很乐意在家学习。直到他十三岁的时候，也许因为母亲把全部时间都花在了教卢克认字上面，泰勒问爸爸能不能让他上八年级。
If Dad had caught me with a book when I was supposed to be working, I’d have skittered, but Tyler was steady. “Dad,” he’d say. “I’ll w-w-work after l-l-lunch. But I n-n-need the morning to s-st-study.” Most mornings they’d argue for a few minutes, then Tyler would surrender his pencil, his shoulders slumping as he pulled on his boots and welding gloves. But there were other mornings — mornings that always astonished me — when Dad huffed out the back door, alone.
我如果在该干活时看书被爸爸逮住，会立刻溜之大吉，但泰勒岿然不动。“爸爸，”他说，“我吃完午…午饭再去干…干活。但上午我得、得学…学习。”大多数上午他们都会争论一会儿，然后泰勒放下铅笔，耷拉着肩膀，穿上靴子，戴上焊接手套。但也有些上午，爸爸一个人气鼓鼓地走出后门，这种情况总令我震惊。
The real challenge was finding time to study. Every morning at seven, my father gathered his sons, divided them into teams and sent them out to tackle the tasks of the day. It usually took about an hour for Dad to notice that Tyler was not among his brothers. Then he’d burst through the back door and stride into the house to where Tyler sat studying in his room. “What the hell are you doing?” he’d shout, tracking clumps of dirt onto Tyler’s spotless carpet. “I got Luke loading I-beams by himself — one man doing a two-man job — and I come in here and find you sitting on your ass?”
真正的挑战在于找时间学习。每天早上七点，爸爸就把儿子们召集起来，分好组，派他们去干当天的活儿。通常过了一小时爸爸才会注意到泰勒不在兄弟们中间。接着他会冲进后门，大步走进泰勒的房间，大声质问正坐在里面学习的泰勒。“你到底在干什么？”他一边吼，一边把鞋子上的泥巴踩到泰勒一尘不染的地毯上，“我让卢克去装工字梁——他一人干了两个人的活儿——我过来找你，你竟然还不挪屁股？”
One lunch in particular has lodged in my memory. Tyler is assembling tacos from the fixings Mother has laid out: he lines up the shells on his plate, three in a perfect row, then adds the hamburger, lettuce and tomatoes carefully, measuring the amounts, perfectly distributing the sour cream. Dad drones steadily. Then, just as Dad reaches the end of his lecture and takes a breath to begin again, Tyler slides all three of the flawless tacos into Mother’s juicer, the one she uses to make tinctures, and turns it on. A loud roar howls through the kitchen, imposing a kind of silence. The roar ceases; Dad resumes. Tyler pours the orange liquid into a glass and begins to drink, carefully, delicately, because his front teeth are still loose, still trying to jump out of his mouth. Many memories might be summoned to symbolize this period of our lives, but this is the one that has stayed with me: of Dad’s voice rising up from the floor while Tyler drinks his tacos.
有顿午饭尤其使我记忆深刻。泰勒正在用母亲摆出来的配菜组装玉米卷：他把玉米饼皮三个一排，整整齐齐码在盘子里，然后小心翼翼地加入碎牛肉、生菜和番茄，计数，再完美地分配酸奶油。爸爸又在滔滔不绝。就在爸爸即将讲完，换口气准备重新开始时，泰勒把三个完美的玉米卷放进母亲用来做酊剂的榨汁机里，打开了按钮。机器的轰鸣声响彻厨房，强行施加了一种寂静。轰鸣停止，爸爸又开始了。泰勒把橙色的液体倒进杯子里，小心翼翼地开始喝，因为他的门牙仍很松动，仍试图从他的嘴中蹦出。有许多回忆可被看作我们人生这一阶段的象征，但这段记忆一直令我念念不忘：爸爸的声音从地面升起，而泰勒在喝他的玉米卷。
I didn’t believe Tyler would really go to college, that he would ever abandon the mountain to join the Illuminati. I figured Dad had all summer to bring Tyler to his senses, which he tried to do most days when the crew came in for lunch. The boys would putter around the kitchen, dishing up seconds and thirds, and Dad would stretch himself out on the hard linoleum — because he was tired and needed to lie down, but was too dirty for Mother’s sofa — and begin his lecture about the Illuminati.
我不相信泰勒真的会去上大学，会忍心弃山而去，加入光明会。我猜爸爸还有一整个夏天的时间去说服泰勒，每次小工队回家吃午饭时，他大部分时间都在做这事。哥哥们在厨房里晃悠，分餐装盘，爸爸则瘫在油毡上——他太累了，必须躺下休息，但是又不能弄脏母亲的沙发——开始了针对光明会的长篇大论。
Dad didn’t like us spending time there. Before he retired Grandpa had been a mailman, and Dad said no one worth our respect would have worked for the Government. Grandma was even worse, Dad said. She was frivolous. I didn’t know what that word meant, but he said it so often that I’d come to associate it with her — with her creamy carpet and soft petal wallpaper.
爸爸不喜欢我们去那里。外公退休前是个邮递员，爸爸说值得我们尊敬的人都不会为政府工作。外婆更糟糕，爸爸说，她很轻佻。我不知道“轻佻”是什么意思，但他时常这样说，以至于我将这个词与她，与她家奶白色的地毯和柔软的花瓣墙纸联系在一起。
As spring turned to summer, Dad’s resolve turned to denial — he acted as if the argument were over and he had won. He stopped talking about Tyler’s leaving and refused to hire a hand to replace him.
春去夏来，爸爸的坚决变成否认——好像争论结束，他赢了。他不再谈论泰勒要离开的事，也拒绝雇人替代他干活。
One warm afternoon, Tyler took me to visit Grandma- and Grandpa-over-in-town, who lived in the same house where they’d raised Mother, a house that could not have been more different from ours. The decor was not expensive but it was well cared for — creamy white carpet on the floors, soft floral paper on the walls, thick, pleated curtains in the windows. They seldom replaced anything. The carpet, the wallpaper, the kitchen table and countertops — everything was the same as it was in the slides I’d seen of my mother’s childhood.
一个温暖的午后，泰勒带我去城里外公外婆家玩。他们仍住在母亲小时候生活过的房子里，那是一栋与我们家有天壤之别的房子。装饰虽不华贵却得精心打理——地板上铺着奶白色地毯，墙上贴着柔软的花瓣墙纸，窗户上装有厚厚的百褶窗帘。他们几乎没更换过任何东西。地毯、墙纸、餐桌和台面——一切都和我母亲童年时一样，仿佛让我看到了旧日时光。
Tyler loved it there. He loved the calm, the order, the soft way my grandparents spoke to each other. There was an aura in that house that made me feel instinctively, without ever being told, that I was not to shout, not to hit anyone or tear through the kitchen at full speed. I did have to be told, and told repeatedly, to leave my muddy shoes by the door.
泰勒很喜欢待在那里。他喜欢外祖父母相互说话的方式，平静，有条理，温柔。他们家有种气氛，让我无须别人提醒就本能地感到，不该大喊大叫，不该打人，也不该在厨房里全速冲刺。在那里我唯一被一再提醒的就是，一定要把沾满泥巴的鞋子放到门边。
“Off to college!” Grandma said once we were settled onto the floral-print sofa. She turned to me. “You must be so proud of your brother!” Her eyes squinted to accommodate her smile. I could see every one of her teeth. Leave it to Grandma to think getting yourself brainwashed is something to celebrate, I thought.
我们刚在她家的印花沙发上坐下，外婆就说：“去上大学！”她转向我说，“你一定为你哥哥感到骄傲吧！”她笑眼弯弯。我能看清她的每一颗牙齿。我心想，外婆竟然觉得洗脑是件值得庆祝的事，随她这么去想吧。
“I need the bathroom,” I said.
“我去趟卫生间。”我说。
Alone in the hall I walked slowly, pausing with each step to let my toes sink into the carpet. I smiled, remembering that Dad had said Grandma could keep her carpet so white only because Grandpa had never done any real work. “My hands might be dirty,” Dad had said, winking at me and displaying his blackened fingernails. “But it’s honest dirt.”
我一个人慢慢穿过走廊，每走一步都停下来，让脚趾陷进地毯里。我笑了，想起爸爸曾说过，外婆能把地毯保持得这么白，只是因为外公从没真正干过活。“我的手可能很脏，”爸爸说着，朝我挤挤眼，露出他黑黑的指甲，“但这可是诚实的污垢。”
Weeks passed and it was full summer. One Sunday Dad called the family together. “We’ve got a good supply of food,” he said. “We’ve got fuel and water stored away. What we don’t got is money.” Dad took a twenty from his wallet and crumpled it. “Not this fake money. In the Days of Abomination, this won’t be worth a thing. People will trade hundred-dollar bills for a roll of toilet paper.”
几个星期过去了，时值盛夏。一个星期天，爸爸把全家人召集到一起。“我们有了充足的食物储备，”他说，“燃料和水也存好了。现在只缺钱。”爸爸从钱包里拿出一张二十美元的纸币，把它揉成一团，“不是这种假钱。世界末日来临时，这些毫无价值。人们会用几百美元钞票换一卷厕纸。”
I imagined a world where green bills littered the highway like empty soda cans. I looked around. Everyone else seemed to be imagining that too, especially Tyler. His eyes were focused, determined. “I’ve got a little money saved,” Dad said. “And your mother’s got some tucked away. We’re going to change it into silver. That’s what people will be wishing they had soon, silver and gold.”
我脑海中闪现一个世界，绿色钞票像空汽水罐一样散落在公路上。我环顾四周。其他人似乎也都这么想，尤其是泰勒。他的眼神专注而坚定。“我存了点钱，”爸爸说，“你们的母亲也藏了一些。我们要把这些钱变成银子。金和银，才是将来人们梦寐以求的东西。”
A few days later, Dad came home with the silver, and even some gold. The metal was in the form of coins, packed in small, heavy boxes, which he carried through the house and piled in the basement. He wouldn’t let me open them. “They aren’t for playing,” he said.
几天后，爸爸带回来一些银子和金子。都是硬币形状，装在又小又重的箱子里。他把这些箱子搬进屋，放到地下室。他不让我打开箱子。“它们可不是用来玩的。”他说。
I awoke one morning in August to find Tyler packing his clothes, books and CDs into boxes. He’d nearly finished by the time we sat down to breakfast. I ate quickly, then went into his room and looked at his shelves, now empty except for a single CD, the black one with the image of the people dressed in white, which I now recognized as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Tyler appeared in the doorway. “I’m l-l-leaving that f-f-for you,” he said. Then he walked outside and hosed down his car, blasting away the Idaho dust until it looked as though it had never seen a dirt road.
八月的一天早晨，我一觉醒来，发现泰勒正把衣服、书和CD装进箱子。我们坐下吃早饭时，他几乎快装完了。我快速吃完，走进他的房间，看了看他的书架，现在除了一张CD，上面空无一物。正是那张黑色CD，上面是一群身穿白衣的人，现在我认出来那是摩门教礼拜堂合唱团。泰勒出现在门口。“我把那个给…给你留…留下。”他说。接着他走到外面，拿起水管冲洗他的车，把爱达荷州的灰尘冲刷干净，直到车子看上去像从未在土路上行驶过似的。
Some time after, Tyler took several thousand dollars — nearly all the savings he had left after he’d paid the farmer for the tractor and Dad for the station wagon — and bought his own pile of silver, which he stacked in the basement next to the gun cabinet. He stood there for a long time, considering the boxes, as if suspended between two worlds.
后来泰勒也花了几千美元——在赔偿了农民的拖拉机和爸爸的旅行车后，这几乎是他的全部积蓄——给自己买了一堆银币，堆放在地下室的枪柜旁边。他端详着那些箱子，在那里站了许久，仿佛悬浮在两个世界之间。
Tyler was a softer target: I begged and he gave me a silver coin as big as my palm. The coin soothed me. It seemed to me that Tyler’s buying it was a declaration of loyalty, a pledge to our family that despite the madness that had hold of him, that made him want to go to school, ultimately he would choose us. Fight on our side when The End came. By the time the leaves began to change, from the juniper greens of summer to the garnet reds and bronzed golds of autumn, that coin shimmered even in the lowest light, polished by a thousand finger strokes. I’d taken comfort in the raw physicality of it, certain that if the coin was real, Tyler’s leaving could not be.
泰勒比爸爸心软，我一求，他就给了我一枚银币，和我手掌一般大小。这枚银币让我安心。在我看来，泰勒购买银币是忠诚的宣言，是对我们家的承诺，尽管疯狂攫住了他，驱使他想离家上学，但最终他会选择我们。世界末日来临时，他会站在我们这边战斗。当树叶开始变色，从夏天的杜松绿变成秋天的石榴红和古铜金，我用手指无数次摩挲那枚银币，即使在最暗的光线下，它仍幽幽地闪着微光。这种原始的身体活动给我安慰，让我确信如果银币是真的，泰勒就不会离开。
He was in the driver’s seat by the time I’d climbed down, and the car was rumbling down the dirt road when I leapt out from behind an iron tank. Tyler stopped, then got out and hugged me — not the crouching hug that adults often give children but the other kind, both of us standing, him pulling me into him and bringing his face close to mine. He said he would miss me, then he let me go, stepping into his car and speeding down the hill and onto the highway. I watched the dust settle.
我从车厢上下来，他已经坐在驾驶座上了。我从一个铁罐后面跳出来，汽车正沿土路隆隆行驶。泰勒停下车，从车上下来，抱住了我——不是像大人拥抱孩子那样蹲下来，而是另一种拥抱：我们俩都站着，他把我拉过去，脸贴近我的脸。他说他会想我，然后松开我，钻进汽车，飞快地开下山，上了高速公路。我看着尘土落完。
Dad finished his breakfast and left without a word. I understood why. The sight of Tyler loading boxes into his car made me crazed. I wanted to scream but instead I ran, out the back door and up through the hills toward the peak. I ran until the sound of blood pulsing in my ears was louder than the thoughts in my head; then I turned around and ran back, swinging around the pasture to the red railroad car. I scrambled onto its roof just in time to see Tyler close his trunk and turn in a circle, as if he wanted to say goodbye but there was no one to say goodbye to. I imagined him calling my name and pictured his face falling when I didn’t answer.
爸爸吃完早饭，一言不发地走了。我知道为什么。看着泰勒把箱子装进他的车，我简直要疯了。我想尖叫，但没有叫出声，而是冲出后门，翻过小山，朝山顶跑。我不停地跑，耳朵里的血液直往上涌，思绪被怦怦的心跳声掩盖。之后我转身往回跑，绕着草地跑向那辆红色火车车厢。我爬上车厢，刚好看到泰勒合上汽车后备厢，转过身来，好像想跟我们道别，却又没人可以告别。我想象他叫着我的名字，想象我没有回应时他脸上的落寞。
It would be many years before I would understand what leaving that day had cost him, and how little he had understood about where he was going. Tony and Shawn had left the mountain, but they’d left to do what my father had taught them to do: drive semis, weld, scrap. Tyler stepped into a void. I don’t know why he did it and neither does he. He can’t explain where the conviction came from, or how it burned brightly enough to shine through the black uncertainty. But I’ve always supposed it was the music in his head, some hopeful tune the rest of us couldn’t hear, the same secret melody he’d been humming when he bought that trigonometry book, or saved all those pencil shavings.
多年以后，我才会明白他那天离开的代价是什么，他对自己要去的地方有多么不了解。托尼和肖恩离开了山，但他们离开是去干父亲教他们干的行当：开挂车，做焊接，拆废料。泰勒步入了一片虚空。我不知道他为什么这么做，他也不知道。他无法解释这个信念从何而来，也无法解释它是如何发出明亮的光来穿透那黑暗的不确定。但我一直猜想那来自他脑海中的音乐，来自我们其他人听不到的充满希望的曲调，来自他买三角学书和收藏铅笔屑时一直哼唱的秘密旋律。
Tyler rarely came home after that. He was building a new life for himself across enemy lines. He made few excursions back to our side. I have almost no memory of him until five years later, when I am fifteen, and he bursts into my life at a critical moment. By then we are strangers.
之后泰勒极少回家。他在敌方阵线上为自己开创了新生活，很少回到我们这边。五年后我十五岁，就在我对他几乎没了记忆时，他在一个至关重要的时刻突然闯入我的生活。那时我们俩成了陌生人。
Summer waned, seeming to evaporate in its own heat. The days were still hot but the evenings had begun to cool, the frigid hours after sunset claiming more of each day. Tyler had been gone a month.
夏天逐渐走远，似乎在自己的高温中蒸发了。白天仍然很热，但晚上天气开始转凉，日落之后几小时寒意渐浓。泰勒已经离开一个月了。
After Grandma slid the first batch into the oven, I went to the bathroom. I passed through the hallway, with its soft white carpet, and felt a stab of anger when I remembered that the last time I’d seen it, I’d been with Tyler. The bathroom felt foreign. I took in the pearly sink, the rosy tint of the carpet, the peach-colored rug. Even the toilet peeked out from under a primrose covering. I took in my own reflection, framed by creamy tiles. I looked nothing like myself, and I wondered for a moment if this was what Tyler wanted, a pretty house with a pretty bathroom and a pretty sister to visit him. Maybe this was what he’d left for. I hated him for that.
外婆把第一批饼干放进烤箱后，我去了趟卫生间。穿过铺着柔软的白色地毯的走廊，我想起上次看到它时还和泰勒一起，心中不免一阵愤怒。卫生间感觉陌生。闪着珍珠般光泽的水槽，玫瑰般绚丽的大地毯，桃粉色的小地毯全都映入眼帘。甚至樱草花盖子下的马桶都在向外窥视。我从镶有乳白色瓷砖框的镜中看着自己。我看上去一点也不像我自己了。有那么一刻，我在想难道这就是泰勒想要的：漂亮的房子，漂亮的卫生间，漂亮的妹妹。也许他离开就是为了这个。想到这里我就对他心生怨恨。
I was spending the afternoon with Grandma-over-in-town. I’d had a bath that morning, even though it wasn’t Sunday, and I’d put on special clothes with no holes or stains so that, scrubbed and polished, I could sit in Grandma’s kitchen and watch her make pumpkin cookies. The autumn sun poured in through gossamer curtains and onto marigold tiles, giving the whole room an amber glow.
一天下午，我和城里外婆在一起。那天虽然不是星期天，早上我还是洗了个澡，特意穿上没有破洞和污渍的衣服，这样我就可以干净得体地坐在外婆的厨房里，看她做南瓜饼干了。秋日的阳光透过薄纱窗帘洒在金盏花瓷砖上，让整个房间发出琥珀色的光芒。
My reply soured the cream in her voice. “Why not?”
听了我的回答，她的声音不再甜美。“为什么不洗呢？”
Coming out, I walked into Grandma, who’d been waiting for me in the hall.
出来后，我走向外婆，她一直在走廊里等我。
Near the tap there were a dozen pink and white soaps, shaped like swans and roses, resting in an ivory-tinted shell. I picked up a swan, feeling its soft shape give under pressure from my fingers. It was beautiful and I wanted to take it. I pictured it in our basement bathroom, its delicate wings set against the coarse cement. I imagined it lying in a muddy puddle on the sink, surrounded by strips of curling yellowed wallpaper. I returned it to its shell.
水龙头附近摆着十几块粉色和白色香皂，玫瑰和天鹅形状，放在象牙色的贝壳皂盒里。我拿起一块天鹅形状的，放在手指间细细感受它的柔软。真美呀，我真想把它带走。我想象把它放在我们家地下室的卫生间里，它那精致的翅膀贴在粗糙的水泥上；我想象它躺在水槽上的泥坑里，周围是一块块发黄打卷的墙纸。我又把它放回了贝壳皂盒里。
“No,” I said.
“没有。”我说。
“Did you wash your hands?” she asked, her tone sweet and buttery.
“你洗手了吗？”她问，她的声音甜美又温柔。
“They weren’t dirty.”
“手又不脏。”
“You should always wash your hands after you use the toilet.”
“每次上完厕所后你都该洗手。”
“It can’t be that important,” I said. “We don’t even have soap in the bathroom at home.”
“这又不重要，”我说，“我家卫生间连香皂都没有。”
I squared my stance, ready to argue, to tell Grandma again that we didn’t use soap, but when I looked up, the woman I saw was not the woman I expected to see. She didn’t seem frivolous, didn’t seem like the type who’d waste an entire day fretting over her white carpet. In that moment she was transformed. Maybe it was something in the shape of her eyes, the way they squinted at me in disbelief, or maybe it was the hard line of her mouth, which was clamped shut, determined. Or maybe it was nothing at all, just the same old woman looking like herself and saying the things she always said. Maybe her transformation was merely a temporary shift in my perspective — for that moment, perhaps the perspective was his, that of the brother I hated, and loved.
我摆好姿态，准备争辩，想再次告诉外婆我们不用香皂，但我抬起头，看到的却不是我期待看见的那个女人。她看上去并不“轻佻”，也不像那种整天为白地毯而烦恼的人。那一刻，她变了。也许是她眼睛的形状，它们眯在一起难以置信地看着我，又或者是她线条生硬紧闭的嘴巴。或者可能根本没什么变化，还是那个老太太，还是那副模样，说的也是她常说的话。也许她的转变只是我观感的一时改变——就那一刻而言，也许那是他的观感，那个令我既恨又爱的哥哥。
“That’s not true,” she said. “I raised your mother better than that.”
“这不是真的吧，”她说，“我可不是那样教育你母亲的。”
Grandma led me into the bathroom and watched as I washed my hands, then directed me to dry them on the rose-colored towel. My ears burned, my throat felt hot.
外婆领我进了卫生间，看着我洗完手，接着指引我用玫瑰色的毛巾把手擦干。我的耳朵发烫，喉咙发干。
Dad picked me up soon after on his way home from a job. He pulled up in his truck and honked for me to come out, which I did, my head bent low. Grandma followed. I rushed into the passenger seat, displacing a toolbox and welding gloves, while Grandma told Dad about my not washing. Dad listened, sucking on his cheeks while his right hand fiddled with the gearshift. A laugh was bubbling up inside him.
不一会儿，干活归来的爸爸顺路来接我回家。他停下卡车，按喇叭叫我。我低着头出来了。外婆跟在后面。我把副驾驶座上的工具箱和焊接手套拿开，匆匆坐了上去。外婆对爸爸说了我不洗手的事。爸爸右手摆弄着变速挡，吸着脸颊听着。一阵大笑在他体内冒着泡。
Having returned to my father, I felt the power of his person. A familiar lens slid over my eyes and Grandma lost whatever strange power she’d had over me an hour before.
回到父亲身边，我感受到他的力量。熟悉的镜头滑过我的双眼，一小时前外婆对我施加的奇异影响消失了。
“Don’t you teach your children to wash after they use the toilet?” Grandma said.
“难道你不教孩子上完厕所后洗手吗？”外婆说。
Dad shifted the truck into gear. As it rolled forward he waved and said, “I teach them not to piss on their hands.”
爸爸挂上挡，卡车向前行驶。他挥了挥手，说：“我教他们不要尿在手上。”
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