Dad didn’t have enough of a crew to build hay sheds, so he went back to scrapping. With Tyler gone, the rest of us were promoted: Luke, at sixteen, became the eldest son, my father’s right hand, and Richard and I took his place as grunts.
爸爸没有足够的人手去盖草棚了，于是干起了拆解废品的老本行。泰勒走了，我们其余人便升了级：十六岁的卢克成了长子和父亲的左膀右臂，我和理查德则代替他，成了多面手勤杂工。
The winter after Tyler left, Audrey turned fifteen. She picked up her driver’s license from the county courthouse and, on her way home, got a job flipping burgers. Then she took a second job milking cows at four A. M. every morning. For a year she’d been fighting with Dad, bucking under the restraints he put on her. Now she had money; she had her own car; we hardly saw her. The family was shrinking, the old hierarchy compressing.
泰勒离开后的那个冬天，奥黛丽十五岁了。她从县政府拿到了驾照，在回家路上找到了一份煎汉堡肉的工作。接着她又找了一份每天早上四点挤牛奶的工作。一年来，她一直和爸爸斗争，在他施加的种种管束下疯狂赚钱。现在她有钱了，也有了自己的车，我们几乎见不到她的人影。家里的人越来越少，旧日的等级制度开始简缩。
I remember the first morning I entered the junkyard as one of my father’s crew. The earth was ice, even the air felt stiff. We were in the yard above the lower pasture, which was overrun by hundreds of cars and trucks. Some were old and broken down but most had been wrecked and they looked it — bent, arched, twisted, the impression they gave was of crumpled paper, not steel. In the center of the yard there was a lake of debris, vast and deep: leaking car batteries, tangles of insulated copper wire, abandoned transmissions, rusted sheets of corrugated tin, antique faucets, smashed radiators, serrated lengths of luminous brass pipe, and on and on. It was endless, a formless mass.
我记得作为父亲小工队成员的第一天早上进入废料场的情景。地面结了冰，寒气刺骨。我们来到山下草场上方的院子，院里堆满了数百辆小车和卡车。有些车又旧又破，大多数都是被撞坏的，弯弯扭扭，感觉不像是钢做的，倒像是皱巴巴的纸糊的。院子正中央是大片成堆的残骸：泄漏的汽车电池、缠绕的绝缘铜线、废弃的变速器、生锈的瓦楞铁皮、老式水龙头、破碎的散热器、锯齿状的发光黄铜管等等。没有尽头，没有形状，乱作一大团。
Dad led me to its edge.
爸爸把我领到那堆废品边上。
“Come here.” His tone was impatient. He was used to dictating to grown men. Having to explain his trade to a ten-year-old girl somehow made us both feel small.
“过来。”他的语气很不耐烦。他习惯了对成年男子发号施令。被迫向一个十岁女孩解释他的行当，这让我们俩都觉得有点无所适从。
“I think so.”
“应该能分清。”
“You know the difference between aluminum and stainless steel?” he said.
“你能分清铝和不锈钢吗？”他问。
He yanked out a chunk of shimmering metal. “This here’s aluminum,” he said. “See how it shines? Feel how light it is?” Dad put the piece into my hand. He was right; it was not as heavy as it looked. Next Dad handed me a dented pipe. “This here’s steel,” he said.
他猛地抽出一块闪闪发光的金属。“这是铝，”他说，“看见它的亮度了吧？你试试看它有多轻？”爸爸把那块东西放到我手里。他说得对，它不像看上去那么重。接着爸爸递给我一根凹陷的管子。“这是钢。”他说。
We began to sort the debris into piles — aluminum, iron, steel, copper — so it could be sold. I picked up a piece of iron. It was dense with bronze rust, and its jagged angles nibbled at my palms. I had a pair of leather gloves, but when Dad saw them he said they’d slow me down. “You’ll get calluses real quick,” he promised as I handed them over. I’d found a hard hat in the shop, but Dad took that, too. “You’ll move slower trying to balance this silly thing on your head,” he said.
我们把废品按照铝、铁、钢、铜分类，整理成堆，以方便把它们卖掉。我拿起一块锈迹斑斑的铁，锯齿状的尖角刺痛了我的手掌。我本来戴着一副皮手套，但爸爸看见了，说手套会让我干活速度放慢。“你的手很快就会长老茧的。”我把铁递给他时，他向我保证说。之前我从店里找到一顶安全帽，但爸爸也把它没收了。“头上戴了这个蠢东西，为了保持平衡，你动作就慢了。”他说。
The first time I saw him do it, I thought it was an accident, a mishap that would be corrected. I hadn’t yet grasped the rules of this new world. I had bent down, and was reaching for a copper coil, when something massive cut through the air next to me. When I turned to see where it had come from, I caught a steel cylinder full in the stomach.
第一次见他这样做，我还以为是个意外，一场会得到纠正的事故。我还没有掌握这个新世界的规则。我弯下腰，伸手去够一根铜线圈，这时，一个庞然大物突然与我擦身而过。我转过身看它是从哪儿冒出来的，就被一个钢瓶正打在肚子上。
Dad lived in fear of time. He felt it stalking him. I could see it in the worried glances he gave the sun as it moved across the sky, in the anxious way he appraised every length of pipe or cut of steel. Dad saw every piece of scrap as the money it could be sold for, minus the time needed to sort, cut and deliver it. Every slab of iron, every ring of copper tubing was a nickel, a dime, a dollar — less if it took more than two seconds to extract and classify — and he constantly weighed these meager profits against the hourly expense of running the house. He figured that to keep the lights on, the house warm, he needed to work at breakneck speed. I never saw Dad carry anything to a sorting bin; he just chucked it, with all the strength he had, from wherever he was standing.
爸爸活在对时间的恐惧中。他感觉时间在他身后紧追不舍。从他不时忧心忡忡地瞥一眼划过天空的太阳，从他焦急地掂量每支管子或每根钢条，我能看出这一点。在爸爸眼里，每一块废品就是它被卖掉换来的钱，扣除整理、切割和送货的时间成本。每一块废铁、每一圈铜管都是一分、一毛或一块钱——如果提取分类的时间超过两秒，利润还要打折扣——他不断地拿这些微薄的利润权衡家里的日常开支。他计算出为了让家里亮亮堂堂、暖暖和和，他必须极其迅速地干活。我从没见过爸爸搬着什么东西放进分类箱；不管站在哪儿，他只是用尽全力，随手抛掷。
I remembered all the times I’d seen one of my brothers burst through the back door, howling, pinching some part of his body that was gashed or squashed or broken or burned. I remembered two years before, when a man named Robert, who worked for Dad, had lost a finger. I remembered the otherworldly pitch of his scream as he ran to the house. I remembered staring at the bloody stump, and then at the severed finger, which Luke brought in and placed on the counter. It looked like a prop from a magic trick. Mother put it on ice and rushed Robert to town so the doctors could sew it back on. Robert’s was not the only finger the junkyard had claimed. A year before Robert, Shawn’s girlfriend, Emma, had come through the back door shrieking. She’d been helping Shawn and lost half her index. Mother had rushed Emma to town, too, but the flesh had been crushed, and there was nothing they could do.
我见过某个哥哥捂着身体上割破、压烂、断裂或烧伤的部位，大声号叫着从后门冲进来，种种情景历历在目。我想起两年前，爸爸手下有个叫罗伯特的人在干活时丢了一根手指。我记得他朝家跑去时那非人的惨叫声。我忆起自己盯着他血淋淋的残肢，盯着卢克拿来放在台面上的断指。它看上去就像一个魔术道具。母亲把它放在冰块上，紧急送罗伯特到镇上，以便医生将断指缝合回去。罗伯特并非唯一一个在废料场断送手指的人。在他出事前一年，肖恩的女友艾玛也曾尖叫着从后门冲进来。她在帮肖恩干活时断了半根食指。母亲也把艾玛送到镇上，但当时肉全被压碎，医生也无能为力。
The impact knocked me to the ground. “Oops!” Dad hollered. I rolled over on the ice, winded. By the time I’d scrambled to my feet, Dad had launched something else. I ducked but lost my footing and fell. This time I stayed down. I was shaking but not from cold. My skin was alive and tingling with the certainty of danger, yet when I looked for the source of that danger, all I could see was a tired old man, tugging on a broken light fixture.
我被击倒在地。“哎呀！”爸爸大喊一声。我气喘吁吁地在冰上打滚。等我爬起来，爸爸又扔过来别的东西。我一个躲闪，但没留意脚底，又摔倒在地。这一次我没有立即起来。我浑身发抖，但不是因为冷。我的皮肤因四周确定无疑的危险而兴奋、刺痛，但当我寻找危险的来源时，我只看到一位疲倦的老人，正拽着一个坏了的灯具。
I looked at my own pink fingers, and in that moment the junkyard shifted. As children, Richard and I had passed countless hours in the debris, jumping from one mangled car to the next, looting some, leaving others. It had been the backdrop for a thousand imagined battles — between demons and wizards, fairies and goons, trolls and giants. Now it was changed. It had ceased to be my childhood playground and had become its own reality, one whose physical laws were mysterious, hostile.
我盯着自己发红的手指，那一刻，废料场在我眼中发生了变化。儿时我和理查德在这片废墟中度过了无数时光，从一辆破车跳上另一辆破车，搜寻其中的宝贝。在这里，我们假想了无数战斗场景——恶魔与巫师，精灵与暴徒，巨魔与巨人。现在它变了，不再是我儿时的那个游乐场，而是回归现实，有着神秘莫测、充满敌意的物理定律。
I was remembering the strange pattern the blood had made as it streaked down Emma’s wrist, smearing across her forearm, when I stood and, still shaking, tried to pry loose the small length of copper tubing. I almost had it when Dad flung a catalytic converter. I leapt aside, cutting my hand on the serrated edge of a punctured tank. I wiped the blood on my jeans and shouted, “Don’t throw them here! I’m here!”
我回忆着鲜血流下艾玛的手腕，抹脏她的前臂，形成奇异的图案，一边仍然浑身颤抖地站在那里，试图撬开一小段松动的铜管。爸爸扔过来一个催化转换器，差点击中我。我跳到一边，手碰在一个破水箱的锯齿边上，割破了。我把血抹在牛仔裤上，喊道：“别把它们往这边扔！我在这儿呢！”
Dad looked up, surprised. He’d forgotten I was there. When he saw the blood, he walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey,” he said. “God and his angels are here, working right alongside us. They won’t let you be hurt.”
爸爸惊讶地抬起头。他都忘了我在那里。看到血，他走到我身边，把手放在我肩膀上。“别担心，宝贝，”他说，“上帝和他的天使就在我们身边守护呢。他们是不会让你受到伤害的。”
I wasn’t the only one whose feet were searching for solid ground. For six months after the car accident, Mother had improved steadily and we’d thought she would fully recover. The headaches had become less frequent, so that she was shutting herself in the basement only two or three days a week. Then the healing had slowed. Now it had been nine months. The headaches persisted, and Mother’s memory was erratic. At least twice a week she’d ask me to cook breakfast long after everyone had eaten and the dishes had been cleared. She’d tell me to weigh a pound of yarrow for a client, and I’d remind her that we’d delivered the yarrow the day before. She’d begin mixing a tincture, then a minute later couldn’t remember which ingredients she’d added, so that the whole batch had to be tossed. Sometimes she would ask me to stand next to her and watch, so I could say, “You already added the lobelia. Next is the blue vervain.”
不止我一个人在努力站稳脚跟。车祸后的六个月里，母亲病情稳步好转，我们都以为她会完全康复。她的偏头痛不再那么频繁发作，每周她只有两三天把自己关在地下室里。之后康复速度放缓。现在九个月过去了，母亲依旧偏头痛，记忆力也不稳定。每个星期至少有两次，在大家都吃完早餐、盘子也都清理干净一段时间后，她会再让我做早餐。她让我给一位客户称一磅蓍草，我只好提醒她，我们前一天已经把蓍草给客户送去了。制作酊剂时，才过了一分钟，她便不记得刚才添加了哪些成分，所以只好把整批都扔掉。有时她会让我站在她旁边看着，这样我就可以提醒她：“你已经加了半边莲了，接下来该加蓝马鞭草。”
Mother began to doubt whether she would ever midwife again, and while she was saddened by this, Dad was devastated. His face sagged every time Mother turned a woman away. “What if I have a migraine when she goes into labor?” she told him. “What if I can’t remember what herbs I’ve given her, or the baby’s heart rate?”
母亲开始觉得自己无法胜任助产士一职，并为此难过，父亲则极为痛心。每次母亲支走一个妇女，他的脸就耷拉下来。“要是她临产时我偏头痛犯了怎么办？”她说，“要是我不记得给她吃了什么草药，或者忘了婴儿的心率怎么办？”
In the end it wasn’t Dad who convinced Mother to midwife again. She convinced herself, perhaps because it was a part of herself she couldn’t surrender without some kind of struggle. That winter, she midwifed two babies that I remember. After the first she came home sickly and pale, as if bringing that life into the world had taken a measure of her own. She was shut in the basement when the second call came. She drove to the birth in dark glasses, trying to peer through the waves distorting her vision. By the time she arrived the headache was blinding, pulsing, driving out all thought. She locked herself in a back room and her assistant delivered the baby. After that, Mother was no longer the Midwife. On the next birth, she used the bulk of her fee to hire a second midwife, to supervise her. Everyone was supervising her now, it seemed. She had been an expert, an uncontested power; now she had to ask her ten-year-old daughter whether she’d eaten lunch. That winter was long and dark, and I wondered if sometimes Mother was staying in bed even when she didn’t have a migraine.
最终说服母亲再去接生的不是父亲，而是她自己。也许这是她的一部分自我，不经一番抗争她是不会屈服的。那年冬天，我记得她接生了两个婴儿。第一次接生结束，她面色苍白地回到家，病恹恹的，仿佛把一个生命带到世上也损耗了她自己的生命。第二个要接生的人打来电话时，她正把自己关在地下室。她戴上墨镜，努力透过模糊的视线，开车去了产妇家。到了那人家里，她头痛欲裂，眼花缭乱，以至于无法思考。她把自己锁在黑屋里，助手帮她接生了婴儿。从那以后，母亲就不再是那个了不起的助产士了。下一个孩子出生时，她花大价钱雇了一名助产士来指导她。现在似乎每个人都可以指导她。她曾是一名专家，是无可争议的权威，现在却连是否吃过午饭都要询问十岁的女儿。在那个漫长又黑暗的冬天，我怀疑有时候母亲没有偏头痛，也会躺在床上。
At Christmas, someone gave her an expensive bottle of blended essential oils. It helped her headaches, but at fifty dollars for a third of an ounce, we couldn’t afford it. Mother decided to make her own. She began buying single, unmixed oils — eucalyptus and helichrysum, sandalwood and ravensara — and the house, which for years had smelled of earthy bark and bitter leaves, suddenly smelled of lavender and chamomile. She spent whole days blending oils, making adjustments to achieve specific fragrances and attributes. She worked with a pad and pen so she could record every step as she took it. The oils were much more expensive than the tinctures; it was devastating when she had to throw out a batch because she couldn’t remember whether she’d added the spruce. She made an oil for migraines and an oil for menstrual cramps, one for sore muscles and one for heart palpitations. In the coming years she would invent dozens more.
圣诞节时，有人送给她一瓶价格昂贵的混合精油。它有助于缓解她的头痛，但以三分之一盎司五十美元的价格，我们买不起。母亲决定自己制作。她开始买来单一纯精油——桉树、蜡菊、檀香、罗文沙——多年来家里一直弥漫着树皮的土味和树叶的苦味，突然换成了薰衣草和甘菊的芬芳。她整天都在混合、调制精油，以获得特定的香味和属性。她随身带着记事簿和笔，以便把每一步骤都记录下来。精油可比酊剂贵多了；因为忘记是否添加了云杉而不得不扔掉一批精油时，她心痛极了。她制作了缓解偏头痛和痛经的精油，以及用于肌肉酸痛和心悸的精油。接下来几年，她又发明了几十种精油。
To create her formulas, Mother took up something called “muscle testing,” which she explained to me as “asking the body what it needs and letting it answer.” Mother would say to herself, aloud, “I have a migraine. What will make it better?” Then she would pick up a bottle of oil, press it to her chest and, with her eyes closed, say, “Do I need this?” If her body swayed forward it meant yes, the oil would help her headache. If her body swayed backward it meant no, and she would test something else.
为了研制配方，母亲用起了一项叫“肌肉测试”的招数，她向我解释说这是“询问身体的需要，由它自己回答”。母亲会大声问自己：“我有偏头痛，怎么样会好点儿呢？”然后她会拿起一瓶精油，压在胸前，闭上眼睛说：“我需要这个吗？”如果她身体向前倾斜，这意味着答案是“是”，这瓶精油会缓解她的头痛；如果身体向后倾斜，那就意味着“不”，她会再去试别的。
As she became more skilled, Mother went from using her whole body to only her fingers. She would cross her middle and index fingers, then flex slightly to try to uncross them, asking herself a question. If the fingers remained entwined that meant yes; if they parted it was no. The sound produced by this method was faint but unmistakable: each time the pad of her middle finger slipped across the nail of her index, there was a fleshy click.
越来越熟练后，母亲就不再动用整个身体，而改用手指。她会交叉中指和食指，然后问自己一个问题，同时稍微弯曲手指，试图分开它们。如果两个手指仍然交缠在一起，就意味着“是”；如果分开，就代表“不是”。这个方法产生的声响虽轻微，却明确无误：每次她中指指肚滑过食指指甲，就会发出一声丰满的啪嗒。
Mother used muscle testing to experiment with other methods of healing. Diagrams of chakras and pressure points appeared around the house, and she began charging clients for something called “energy work.” I didn’t know what that meant until one afternoon when Mother called me and Richard into the back room. A woman named Susan was there. Mother’s eyes were closed and her left hand was resting on Susan’s. The fingers on her other hand were crossed, and she was whispering questions to herself. After a few she turned to the woman and said, “Your relationship with your father is damaging your kidneys. Think of him while we adjust the chakra.” Mother explained that energy work is most effective when several people are present. “So we can draw from everyone’s energy,” she said. Mother pointed to my forehead and told me to tap the center, between my eyebrows, while with my other hand I was to grab Susan’s arm. Richard was to tap a pressure point on his chest while reaching out to me with his other hand, and Mother was to hold a point in her palm while touching Richard with her foot. “That’s it,” she said as Richard took my arm. We stood in silence for ten minutes, a human chain.
母亲还用肌肉测试来试验其他疗法。家里到处都是穴位和压力点的示意图。她开始向顾客收取“能量工作”的费用。我不懂这是什么意思，直到一天下午，母亲把我和理查德叫到里屋。有个叫苏珊的女人在那儿。母亲闭着眼睛，左手放在苏珊手上，右手两手指交叉，低声问自己问题。过了一会儿，她转向那个女人说：“你和你父亲的关系正在损害你的肾脏。我们调节一下穴位，这期间你要想着他。”母亲解释说，多个人在场时，能量工作最为有效。“这样我们就可以从每个人身上汲取能量。”她说。她指着我的额头，让我一手轻敲自己双眉正中间，一手抓住苏珊的胳膊。理查德要一手轻击胸前的一个压力点，一手伸向我。母亲则要一边按住一只手掌的某个压力点，一边用脚触碰理查德。“就是这样。”理查德挽起我胳膊时，她说。我们组成一根人链，默默站了十分钟。
If I was skeptical, my skepticism was not entirely my fault. It was the result of my not being able to decide which of my mothers to trust. A year before the accident, when Mother had first heard of muscle testing and energy work, she’d dismissed both as wishful thinking. “People want a miracle,” she’d told me. “They’ll swallow anything if it brings them hope, if it lets them believe they’re getting better. But there’s no such thing as magic. Nutrition, exercise and a careful study of herbal properties, that’s all there is. But when they’re suffering, people can’t accept that.”
如果我有所怀疑，那并不完全是我的错，而是因为我无法确定应该相信哪一个母亲。车祸发生的前一年，母亲第一次听说肌肉测试和能量工作，觉得那全是人的一厢情愿。“人总是希望奇迹发生。”她对我说，“如果能给他们带来希望，让他们相信自己正在好转，他们就什么都信，什么都吃。但是世界上根本没有魔法这种东西。营养、锻炼和钻研草药特性，这才是全部。但人们生病受罪时，你说这个他们不接受。”
When I think of that afternoon, what I remember first is the awkwardness of it: Mother said she could feel the hot energy moving through our bodies, but I felt nothing. Mother and Richard stood still, eyes shut, breath shallow. They could feel the energy and were transported by it. I fidgeted. I tried to focus, then worried that I was ruining things for Susan, that I was a break in the chain, that Mother and Richard’s healing power would never reach her because I was failing to conduct it. When the ten minutes were up, Susan gave Mother twenty dollars and the next customer came in.
回忆起那个下午，我首先记起的是那种尴尬：母亲说她能感觉到热能量正在我们身体里流动，但我什么也感觉不到。母亲和理查德闭着眼睛，静静地站着，呼吸很轻。他们能感受到能量的传递和由此带来的喜悦，我则局促不安。我努力集中注意力，接着又担心坏了苏珊的事，担心因为我成了人链上断裂的一环，不能把母亲和理查德的治愈能量传到苏珊身上。十分钟后，苏珊付给母亲二十美元，接着进来了下一个顾客。
One day Mother announced that she had reached a new skill level. “I no longer need to say the question aloud,” she said. “I can just think it.”
一天，母亲宣布她的技法已经炉火纯青。“我不必再大声说出问题，”她说，“只要想想就可以了。”
Now Mother said that healing was spiritual and limitless. Muscle testing, she explained to me, was a kind of prayer, a divine supplication. An act of faith in which God spoke through her fingers. In some moments I believed her, this wise woman with an answer to every question; but I could never quite forget the words of that other woman, that other mother, who was also wise. There’s no such thing as magic.
现在母亲却说治疗有关精神，不受限制。她向我解释说，肌肉测试是一种祈祷，一种神圣的祈求。这是信仰的体现，上帝通过她的手指传达旨意。有时我相信她，这个聪明的女人知道每个问题的答案；但我永远也忘不了另一个女人，那个同样聪明的母亲说的话：世界上根本没有魔法这种东西。
That’s when I began to notice Mother moving around the house, her hand resting lightly on various objects as she muttered to herself, her fingers flexing in a steady rhythm. If she was making bread and wasn’t sure how much flour she’d added. Click click click. If she was mixing oils and couldn’t remember whether she’d added frankincense. Click click click. She’d sit down to read her scriptures for thirty minutes, forget what time she’d started, then muscle-test how long it had been. Click click click.
就是在这时候，我开始注意到母亲在家中四处走动，她把手轻轻放在各种物品上，喃喃自语，手指以稳定的节奏弯曲。如果她在做面包时不确定自己加了多少面粉，啪嗒，啪嗒，啪嗒；如果她在制作混合精油时不记得自己是否添加了乳香，啪嗒，啪嗒，啪嗒；如果她坐下来诵读了半小时经文，忘记自己是何时开始的，肌肉测试法就又派上了用场，啪嗒，啪嗒，啪嗒。
Dad was rapturous. “Them doctors can’t tell what’s wrong just by touching you,” he said, glowing. “But Mother can!”
爸爸欣喜若狂。“那些医生可不能仅凭触摸就知道你出了什么问题，”他神采飞扬地说，“但是你母亲能！”
The memory of Tyler haunted me that winter. I remembered the day he left, how strange it was to see his car bumping down the hill loaded with boxes. I couldn’t imagine where he was now, but sometimes I wondered if perhaps school was less evil than Dad thought, because Tyler was the least evil person I knew, and he loved school — loved it more, it seemed, than he loved us.
那年冬天，对泰勒的记忆一直萦绕在我心头。我记得他离开那天，看着他那辆装满箱子的车从山上颠簸而下是多么奇怪。我无法想象他现在在哪里，但有时我想，也许学校没有爸爸所想的那么邪恶，因为泰勒是我认识的最善良的人，而他喜欢学校——他对学校的爱，似乎超过了对家人的爱。
Mother began to muscle-test compulsively, unaware she was doing it, whenever she grew tired of a conversation, whenever the ambiguities of her memory, or even just those of normal life, left her unsatisfied. Her features would slacken, her face become vacant, and her fingers would click like crickets at dusk.
母亲开始沉迷于肌肉测试。每当厌倦了谈话，或者记忆模糊，甚至日常生活的那些不确定让她不满，她便进行肌肉测试，但意识不到自己在这么做。她的五官会松弛下来，表情空洞，手指会像黄昏时分的蟋蟀一样，发出啪嗒啪嗒的声响。
The seed of curiosity had been planted; it needed nothing more than time and boredom to grow. Sometimes, when I was stripping copper from a radiator or throwing the five hundredth chunk of steel into the bin, I’d find myself imagining the classrooms where Tyler was spending his days. My interest grew more acute with every deadening hour in the junkyard, until one day I had a bizarre thought: that I should enroll in the public school.
好奇的种子已经播下，只需时间和厌倦让它成长。有时，当我拆下散热器上的铜，或将第五百块钢扔进分类箱时，我会发觉自己在想象泰勒的学校生活。随着在废料场度过沉闷的每一个小时，我的兴趣愈发强烈，直到有一天，一个奇怪的念头闪现：我应该去上学。
But I didn’t ask. There was something in the hard line of my father’s face, in the quiet sigh of supplication he made every morning before he began family prayer, that made me think my curiosity was an obscenity, an affront to all he’d sacrificed to raise me.
但是我没有问。每天早晨开始全家祈祷之前，他脸上的强硬线条，他安静的叹息祈祷中有某种东西，让我觉得我的好奇下流可憎，是对他为了养育我而做出的所有牺牲的侮辱。
Mother had always said we could go to school if we wanted. We just had to ask Dad, she said. Then we could go.
母亲过去总是说，如果我们愿意，只要征求爸爸同意，就可以去上学。
I made some effort to keep up my schooling in the free time I had between scrapping and helping Mother make tinctures and blend oils. Mother had given up homeschooling by then, but still had a computer, and there were books in the basement. I found the science book, with its colorful illustrations, and the math book I remembered from years before. I even located a faded green book of history. But when I sat down to study I nearly always fell asleep. The pages were glossy and soft, made softer by the hours I’d spent hauling scrap.
在拆解废品，帮母亲制作酊剂、混合精油之余，我努力不丢下学业。母亲那时已经放弃了在家办学，但仍有一台电脑，地下室还有书。我找到那本有彩色插图的科学书，还有多年前的那本数学书。我甚至还找到一本褪色的绿皮历史书。可是坐下来学习时，我几乎总是睡着。长时间拖拽废品，使得光滑柔软的书页在我手中显得愈加柔软。
When Dad saw me with one of those books, he’d try to get me away from them. Perhaps he was remembering Tyler. Perhaps he thought if he could just distract me for a few years, the danger would pass. So he made up jobs for me to do, whether they needed doing or not. One afternoon, after he’d caught me looking at the math book, he and I spent an hour hauling buckets of water across the field to his fruit trees, which wouldn’t have been at all unusual except it was during a rainstorm.
爸爸要是看见我在看书，就会试图把我拽走。也许他想起了泰勒。也许他认为如果能再让我分心几年，危险就会过去。所以不管有无必要，他千方百计给我找活儿干。一天下午，他又逮住我在看数学书，就让我和他抬水穿过田野，去浇他的果树，整整一小时里抬了一桶又一桶。这原本也没什么反常的，但当天正在下暴雨。
But if Dad was trying to keep his children from being overly interested in school and books — from being seduced by the Illuminati, like Tyler had been — he would have done better to turn his attention to Richard. Richard was also supposed to spend his afternoons making tinctures for Mother, but he almost never did. Instead, he’d disappear. I don’t know if Mother knew where he went, but I did. In the afternoons, Richard could nearly always be found in the dark basement, wedged in the crawl space between the couch and the wall, an encyclopedia propped open in front of him. If Dad happened by he’d turn the light off, muttering about wasted electricity. Then I’d find some excuse to go downstairs so I could turn it back on. If Dad came through again, a snarl would sound through the house, and Mother would have to sit through a lecture on leaving lights on in empty rooms. She never scolded me, which makes me wonder if she did know where Richard was. If I couldn’t get back down to turn on the light, Richard would pull the book to his nose and read in the dark; he wanted to read that badly. He wanted to read the encyclopedia that badly.
爸爸如果是在试图阻止孩子对学校和书本过于感兴趣——阻止我们像泰勒一样被光明会所引诱——他更该对理查德多加注意。理查德也本该在下午帮母亲制作酊剂，但他几乎从没这么干过。总是不见他的人影。我不清楚母亲是否知道他去了哪里，但我知道。每天下午，在黑暗的地下室里几乎总能找到理查德，他蜷缩在沙发和墙壁之间的狭小空间内，面前摆着一本百科全书。如果爸爸碰巧从此经过，他会把灯关掉，咕哝着说净浪费电。过一会儿我就会找个借口下楼，再去把灯打开。如果爸爸又经过一次的话，家里便会响起一阵咆哮，母亲就得坐在那里听他一顿教训：房间里没人为何要开着灯呢。她从不责骂我，我不禁怀疑她知道理查德在哪里。如果我无法回到下面去开灯，理查德就会把书凑到鼻子边，在黑暗中看书。他就是如此痴迷，如此想看那本百科全书。
Tyler was gone. There was hardly a trace he’d ever lived in the house, except one: every night, after dinner, I would close the door to my room and pull Tyler’s old boom box from under my bed. I’d dragged his desk into my room, and while the choir sang I would settle into his chair and study, just as I’d seen him do on a thousand nights. I didn’t study history or math. I studied religion.
泰勒走了。家里几乎没有他住过的痕迹，除了一处：每天晚饭后，我都会关上房门，从床底下拖出泰勒的旧音箱。之前我把他的书桌拖进我房间，唱诗班合唱乐响起时，我会坐进他的椅子学习，就像之前无数个夜晚我看见他所做的那样。我没有学历史和数学。我学习宗教。
I read the Book of Mormon twice. I read the New Testament, once quickly, then a second time more slowly, pausing to make notes, to cross-reference, and even to write short essays on doctrines like faith and sacrifice. No one read the essays; I wrote them for myself, the way I imagined Tyler had studied for himself and himself only. I worked through the Old Testament next, then I read Dad’s books, which were mostly compilations of the speeches, letters and journals of the early Mormon prophets. Their language was of the nineteenth century — stiff, winding, but exact — and at first I understood nothing. But over time my eyes and ears adjusted, so that I began to feel at home with those fragments of my people’s history: stories of pioneers, my ancestors, striking out across the American wilderness. While the stories were vivid, the lectures were abstract, treatises on obscure philosophical subjects, and it was to these abstractions that I devoted most of my study.
我读了两遍《摩门经》，快速看完了新约，看第二遍时放慢速度，停下来做笔记，相互参照，甚至就信仰和献祭等教义写了短文。没有人读我的文章，我是为自己写的，正如我想象泰勒只为自己而学习一样。接下来我读了旧约，然后读了爸爸的书，主要是早期摩门教先知的演讲、书信和日记汇编。它们是用十九世纪的语言写的——生硬、拗口，但极为准确。起初我看不懂，但随着时间推移，感官逐渐适应了，我开始对讲述我的先辈穿越美国蛮荒之地的历史故事倍感亲切。虽然故事很是生动，但训诫极其抽象，论述的是晦涩难懂的哲学主题。我把大部分时间都花在研究这些抽象的文章上。
By the time the snow on the mountain began to melt, my hands were thickly callused. A season in the junkyard had honed my reflexes: I’d learned to listen for the low grunt that escaped Dad’s lips whenever he tossed something heavy, and when I heard it I hit the dirt. I spent so much time flat in the mud, I didn’t salvage much. Dad joked I was as slow as molasses running uphill.
当山上的积雪开始融化，我的手上长满老茧。在废料场待了一季，磨炼了我的条件反射能力：我学会了辨别爸爸要扔重物时嘴里发出的低沉的咕哝声，一听到这个声音，我立刻伏在地上。我把太多时间都花在了这上面，以至于搜救的废品不够多。爸爸开玩笑说，我就像逆流上山的糖浆一样慢。
In retrospect, I see that this was my education, the one that would matter: the hours I spent sitting at a borrowed desk, struggling to parse narrow strands of Mormon doctrine in mimicry of a brother who’d deserted me. The skill I was learning was a crucial one, the patience to read things I could not yet understand.
回首往事，我发现这就是我的教育，将产生重要影响的教育：我学着弃我而去的那个哥哥的样子，在借来的书桌前枯坐，努力而仔细地研读一条条摩门教教义。我在学习的这个技能至关重要，那就是对不懂的东西耐心阅读。
The memory of Tyler had faded, and with it had faded his music, drowned out by the crack of metal crashing into metal. Those were the sounds that played in my head at night now — the jingle of corrugated tin, the short tap of copper wire, the thunder of iron.
对泰勒的记忆逐渐褪色，他的音乐也被金属的撞击声淹没了。如今到了夜晚我脑海里响彻这些声音——瓦楞铁皮的叮当声，铜线的敲打声，铁的隆隆声。
I had entered into the new reality. I saw the world through my father’s eyes. I saw the angels, or at least I imagined I saw them, watching us scrap, stepping forward and catching the car batteries or jagged lengths of steel tubing that Dad launched across the yard. I’d stopped shouting at Dad for throwing them. Instead, I prayed.
我进入了新的现实，透过父亲的眼睛观察世界。我看到了天使，或者至少是在想象中看到了他们。他们望着我们拆废品，向前一步接住爸爸从院子那头扔过来的汽车电池或长短不一的钢管。我不再因爸爸扔它们而对他吼叫，而是祈祷。
I worked faster when I salvaged alone, so one morning when Dad was in the northern tip of the yard, near the mountain, I headed for the southern tip, near the pasture. I filled a bin with two thousand pounds of iron; then, my arms aching, I ran to find Dad. The bin had to be emptied, and I couldn’t operate the loader — a massive forklift with a telescopic arm and wide, black wheels that were taller than I was. The loader would raise the bin some twenty-five feet into the air and then, with the boom extended, tilt the forks so the scrap could slide out, raining down into the trailer with a tremendous clamor. The trailer was a fifty-foot flatbed rigged for scrapping, essentially a giant bucket. Its walls were made of thick iron sheets that reached eight feet from the bed. The trailer could hold between fifteen and twenty bins, or about forty thousand pounds of iron.
一个人收拾废品时，我干得更快。一天早上，爸爸在院子北头靠山的地方干活，我在南头靠近牧场的地方干活。我把一个箱子装满了两千磅的铁，然后胳膊酸疼，跑去找爸爸。箱子需要清空，而我不会操作装载机——那种带伸缩臂，轮子又宽又黑且比我还高的大型铲车。装载机臂架伸展，把箱子举到约二十五英尺高的空中，货叉倾斜，废品轰的一声巨响倒进挂车。挂车是为了拉废品而特意改装的平板卡车，长五十英尺，其实就是一个巨大的桶。四壁用厚铁板制成，离拖斗有八英尺。一台挂车能装十五到二十个箱子，或者约四万磅重的铁。
I found Dad in the field, lighting a fire to burn the insulation from a tangle of copper wires. I told him the bin was ready, and he walked back with me and climbed into the loader. He waved at the trailer. “We’ll get more in if you settle the iron after it’s been dumped. Hop in.”
我在草地里找到爸爸，他正在点火，准备烧掉一堆铜线的绝缘层。我告诉他箱子已经满了，他跟我走回去，爬进了装载机。他朝挂车挥了挥手。“箱子倒空后你把铁理平整些，这样我们能装更多。跳进去吧。”
I settled myself on a length of iron. Dad jammed the forks under the bin, then lifted me and the scrap and began driving, full throttle, toward the trailer’s head. I could barely hold on. On the last turn, the bucket swung with such force that a spike of iron was flung toward me. It pierced the inside of my leg, an inch below my knee, sliding into the tissue like a knife into warm butter. I tried to pull it out but the load had shifted, and it was partially buried. I heard the soft groaning of hydraulic pumps as the boom extended. The groaning stopped when the bin was level with the trailer. Dad was giving me time to climb onto the trailer wall but I was pinned. “I’m stuck!” I shouted, only the growl of the loader’s engine was too loud. I wondered if Dad would wait to dump the bin until he saw me sitting safely on the semi’s cab, but even as I wondered I knew he wouldn’t. Time was still stalking.
我在一段铁片上坐下。爸爸把货叉伸进箱子底下，将我和废品举了起来，开足马力，朝挂车前面倒去。我几乎快抓不住了。在最后拐弯处，箱子剧烈摇晃，一根带尖的铁向我扎过来。它扎进我膝盖下方一英寸处的小腿内侧，像刀子扎进热黄油一般。我试图把它拿开，但装载机又改变了方向，尖铁一部分被埋住了。臂架伸出时，我听到了液压泵轻微的不正常的活塞声。箱子与挂车齐平时，声音停了。爸爸等着我爬上挂车壁，但我被压住了。“我动不了了！”我喊道，但是装载机引擎的轰鸣声太大了。我在想爸爸是否会等到看见我安全地坐在驾驶室顶上，才去倒空箱子，但我知道他不会。时间仍在紧追不舍。
I didn’t understand. He wanted to dump the bin with me in it? “I’ll climb up after you’ve dumped the load,” I said.
我不明白。难道他想把我和箱子一起倒进挂车？“你卸载完，我再爬上去吧。”我说。
“No, this’ll be faster,” Dad said. “I’ll pause when the bin’s level with the trailer wall so you can climb out. Then you can run along the wall and perch on top of the cab until the dump is finished.”
“不，这样快一些。”爸爸说，“等箱子与挂车壁平齐，我会停一下，这样你就可以爬出去了。然后你沿着挂车壁跑，待在驾驶室顶上，等着箱子倒空。”
The hydraulics groaned and the bin raised another eight feet. Dumping position. I shouted again, higher this time, then lower, trying to find a pitch that would pierce through the drone of the engine. The bin began its tilt, slowly at first, then quickly. I was pinned near the back. I wrapped my hands around the bin’s top wall, knowing this would give me a ledge to grasp when the bin was vertical. As the bin continued to pitch, the scrap at the front began to slide forward, bit by bit, a great iron glacier breaking apart. The spike was still embedded in my leg, dragging me downward. My grip had slipped and I’d begun to slide when the spike finally ripped from me and fell away, smashing into the trailer with a tremendous crash. I was now free, but falling. I flailed my arms, willing them to seize something that wasn’t plunging downward. My palm caught hold of the bin’s side wall, which was now nearly vertical. I pulled myself toward it and hoisted my body over its edge, then continued my fall. Because I was now falling from the side of the bin and not the front, I hoped — I prayed — that I was falling toward the ground and not toward the trailer, which was at that moment a fury of grinding metal. I sank, seeing only blue sky, waiting to feel either the stab of sharp iron or the jolt of solid earth.
液压泵发出呻吟声，箱子又升高了八英尺，倾倒就位。我又大声喊叫，声音忽高忽低，试图找到一个能穿透引擎轰鸣的音调。箱子开始倾斜，起初很慢，接着加快。我被压在后面。我知道箱子垂直时能给我一个抓握点，于是用两手紧抓住箱子的顶壁。箱子继续倾斜，前面的废品开始一点点向前滑动，巨型钢铁冰川开始坍塌。长钉仍然扎在我的腿上，把我往下拉。抓握的手滑了一下，我也开始跟着滑动，长钉终于从我身上脱落，重重掉进挂车里。我现在挣脱了，但却在坠落。我拼命挥动双臂，想抓住一件没在急剧降落的东西。我用一只手掌抓住了现在几乎垂直的箱子侧壁。我挣扎着向它靠近，将身体举过箱子边缘，然后继续下落。因为现在我正从箱子侧面而非前面坠落，我希望——我祈祷——我能摔到地上，而不是掉进挂车里。此刻挂车里的一大堆金属正在发出愤怒的撞击声。我坠落着，只看见蓝天，等待我的或是尖铁的刺痛，或是坚硬地面的撞击。
I lay on my back for perhaps fifteen seconds before the engine growled to silence and I heard Dad’s heavy step.
我仰面躺了大概十五秒，引擎停止了轰鸣，我听到了爸爸沉重的脚步声。
My back struck iron: the trailer’s wall. My feet snapped over my head and I continued my graceless plunge to the ground. The first fall was seven or eight feet, the second perhaps ten. I was relieved to taste dirt.
我的背撞上了铁，是挂车壁。我的脚在头上方咔嚓一声，我继续笨拙地摔落在地。第一次往下摔了七八英尺，第二次可能有十英尺。我尝到了泥土的味道，松了一口气。
“How’d you manage that?” Dad said. His tone was sympathetic but disappointed. I felt stupid. I should have been able to do it, I thought. It’s a simple thing.
“你是怎么做到的？”爸爸说。他的语气中有同情，但也有失望。我觉得自己很蠢。我想，这么简单的事，我本可以做好的。
“What happened?” he said, kneeling next to me.
“怎么了？”他说着，跪在我身旁。
Dad examined the gash in my leg, which had been ripped wide as the spike had fallen away. It looked like a pothole; the tissue had simply sunk out of sight. Dad slipped out of his flannel shirt and pressed it to my leg. “Go on home,” he said. “Mother will stop the bleeding.”
爸爸检查了我腿上的伤口。长钉从腿上掉下去时，扯开了一道大口子，看上去像地面的坑洼；那些肌肉组织都看不见了。爸爸脱下法兰绒衬衫，把它压在我腿上。“回家去吧，”他说，“你妈会止血。”
I limped through the pasture until Dad was out of sight, then collapsed in the tall wheatgrass. I was shaking, gulping mouthfuls of air that never made it to my lungs. I didn’t understand why I was crying. I was alive. I would be fine. The angels had done their part. So why couldn’t I stop trembling?
我一瘸一拐地穿过牧场，直到爸爸消失在视野中，才在麦草上失声崩溃。我颤抖着，大口大口地喘着粗气。我不明白我为什么哭。我还活着。我会没事的。天使们已尽了他们的本分。可我为什么无法停止颤抖呢？
“I fell out,” I wheezed. The wind had been knocked out of me, and there was a powerful throbbing in my back, as if I’d been cut in two.
“我摔出来了。”我气喘吁吁地说。我感觉喘不过气来，后背剧烈地跳动，好像被劈成了两半。
I was light-headed when I crossed the last field and approached the house, but I burst through the back door, as I’d seen my brothers do, as Robert and Emma had done, shouting for Mother. When she saw the crimson footprints streaked across the linoleum, she fetched the homeopathic she used to treat hemorrhages and shock, called Rescue Remedy, and put twelve drops of the clear, tasteless liquid under my tongue. She rested her left hand lightly on the gash and crossed the fingers of her right. Her eyes closed. Click click click. “There’s no tetanus,” she said. “The wound will close. Eventually. But it’ll leave a nasty scar.”
我头晕目眩地穿过最后一片田野，朝房子走去。和之前见到的哥哥们、罗伯特和艾玛一样，我也从后门冲进去，呼喊着母亲。当她看到油毡上深红色的血脚印，便拿出治疗出血和休克、被叫作“急救疗法”的顺势疗法。她在我的舌下滴了十二滴清澈无味的液体，左手轻轻搁在伤口上，右手手指交叉。她闭上眼睛。啪嗒，啪嗒，啪嗒。“没有破伤风，”她说，“伤口最终会长好，但会留下一个讨厌的伤疤。”
She turned me onto my stomach and examined the bruise — a patch of deep purple the size of a human head — that had formed a few inches above my hip. Again her fingers crossed and her eyes closed. Click click click.
她让我趴下，检查了我屁股上方几英寸处的瘀伤——一片深紫色，和人脑袋一般大小。她再次交叉手指，闭上眼睛。啪嗒，啪嗒，啪嗒。
“You’ve damaged your kidney,” she said. “We’d better make a fresh batch of juniper and mullein flower.”
“你的肾脏受伤了，”她说，“我们最好再做一批杜松和毛蕊花精油。”
The gash below my knee had formed a scab — dark and shiny, a black river flowing through pink flesh — when I came to a decision.
我膝盖下面的伤口已经结痂——黑亮亮的，像一条黑色小河流经粉红的肌肉。这时，我做了一个决定。
He seemed not to have heard me.
他似乎没听见我说话。
I chose a Sunday evening, when Dad was resting on the couch, his Bible propped open in his lap. I stood in front of him for what felt like hours, but he didn’t look up, so I blurted out what I’d come to say: “I want to go to school.”
我挑了一个星期日的晚上，当时爸爸正在沙发上休息，腿上放着打开的《圣经》。我在他面前感觉站了有好几个小时，但他始终没有抬头，于是我脱口而出：“我想去上学。”
“I’ve prayed, and I want to go,” I said.
“我祈祷过，我想去。”我说。
He picked up his Bible and his eyes twitched as they jumped from line to line. I turned to leave, but before I reached the doorway Dad spoke again. “You remember Jacob and Esau?”
他拿起《圣经》，转动眼珠从一行跳到另一行。我转身要走，但还没走到门口，爸爸开口了：“你还记得雅各和以扫的故事吗？”[7]【注：[7]《圣经》中雅各和以扫是孪生子，以扫为长子，雅各为幼子。以扫因为“一碗红豆汤”随意地将长子名分“卖”给了雅各。（《创世记》25：29—34）】
“I remember,” I said.
“记得。”我说。
He returned to his reading, and I left quietly. I did not need any explanation; I knew what the story meant. It meant that I was not the daughter he had raised, the daughter of faith. I had tried to sell my birthright for a mess of pottage.
他继续读经文，我静静地离开了。无须任何解释。我知道这个故事的意思。他的意思是说，我不是他养育出的女儿，他的女儿秉持虔诚的信仰。我竟然为了一碗破汤而试图出卖自己与生俱来的权利。
Finally, Dad looked up and straight ahead, his gaze fixed on something behind me. The silence settled, its presence heavy. “In this family,” he said, “we obey the commandments of the Lord.”
最后，爸爸抬起头，直直地向前看，目光聚焦在我身后的什么东西上。静默降临，让人倍感压抑。“在这个家，”他说，“我们遵守上帝的戒律。”
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