That air of respectability was carefully concocted by her mother. My grandmother, LaRue, had come of age in the 1950s, in the decade of idealistic fever that burned after World War II. LaRue’s father was an alcoholic in a time before the language of addiction and empathy had been invented, when alcoholics weren’t called alcoholics, they were called drunks. She was from the “wrong kind” of family but embedded in a pious Mormon community that, like many communities, visited the crimes of the parents on the children. She was deemed unmarriageable by the respectable men in town. When she met and married my grandfather — a good-natured young man just out of the navy — she dedicated herself to constructing the perfect family, or at least the appearance of it. This would, she believed, shield her daughters from the social contempt that had so wounded her.
这种表面的体面是她母亲精心炮制的结果。我的外婆拉鲁成年于二十世纪五十年代，当时正值二战后理想主义成为狂热思潮的十年。拉鲁的父亲酗酒，那时还没有“成瘾”和“同理心”这些术语，酗酒的人不叫“酗酒者”，而被称为“酒鬼”。她来自“非正常”家庭，却生活在一个虔诚的摩门教社区中。和许多社区一样，父母罪行的恶果也祸及子女。镇上没有一个体面的男人会考虑娶她为妻。她认识并嫁给了我外公——一个刚从海军退役的好脾气的年轻人。婚后她便致力于构建一个完美家庭，至少外表上如此。她相信这样会保护女儿们免受社会的伤害，不像她过去那样遭人冷眼。
My mother, Faye, was a mailman’s daughter. She grew up in town, in a yellow house with a white picket fence lined with purple irises. Her mother was a seamstress, the best in the valley some said, so as a young woman Faye wore beautiful clothes, all perfectly tailored, from velvet jackets and polyester trousers to woolen pantsuits and gabardine dresses. She attended church and participated in school and community activities. Her life had an air of intense order, normalcy, and unassailable respectability.
我的母亲名叫法耶，是邮递员的女儿。她在城镇里长大，住在一幢黄色的房子里，周围是白色尖桩栅栏，栅栏旁种着一排排紫色鸢尾花。她母亲据说是山谷里最好的裁缝，所以年轻时的法耶总是穿着剪裁完美的漂亮衣服，从天鹅绒夹克到涤纶长裤，从羊毛套装到华达呢裙，应有尽有。她到教堂做礼拜，也参加学校和社区活动。她过着正常有序的体面生活，可谓无懈可击。
That is to say, my mother responded willfully to the respectability heaped upon her. Grandma wanted to give her daughter the gift she herself had never had, the gift of coming from a good family. But Faye didn’t want it. My mother was not a social revolutionary — even at the peak of her rebellion she preserved her Mormon faith, with its devotion to marriage and motherhood — but the social upheavals of the 1970s did seem to have at least one effect on her: she didn’t want the white picket fence and gabardine dresses.
也就是说，我母亲对堆积在她身上的体面做出了任性的回应。外婆想把自己从未有过的礼物送给女儿，这个礼物就是一个好的家庭出身。但法耶不想要这个。我母亲虽然不是社会变革者——甚至在最叛逆的时期她也谨遵摩门教信仰，忠于婚姻和母性——但二十世纪七十年代的社会剧变似乎至少对她产生了一个影响：她不再想要白色尖桩栅栏和华达呢礼服。
One result of this was the white picket fence and the closet of handmade clothes. Another was that her eldest daughter married a severe young man with jet-black hair and an appetite for unconventionality.
其成果之一就是白色的尖桩栅栏和一衣橱的手工缝制衣服。另一个成果是她的大女儿嫁给了一个严厉的年轻人，此人长着一头乌黑发亮的头发，喜欢不走寻常路。
My mother told me dozens of stories of her childhood, of Grandma fretting about her oldest daughter’s social standing, about whether her piqué dress was the proper cut, or her velvet slacks the correct shade of blue. These stories nearly always ended with my father swooping in and trading out the velvet for blue jeans. One telling in particular has stayed with me. I am seven or eight and am in my room dressing for church. I have taken a damp rag to my face, hands and feet, scrubbing only the skin that will be visible. Mother watches me pass a cotton dress over my head, which I have chosen for its long sleeves so I won’t have to wash my arms, and a jealousy lights her eyes.
母亲给我讲过几十个关于她童年的故事，关于外婆如何为大女儿的社会地位而烦恼，为她的凹凸纹细布裙是否剪裁得当而烦恼，为她的蓝色天鹅绒宽松长裤颜色正不正而烦恼。这些故事几乎总是以我父亲乘虚而入，出卖天鹅绒换取蓝牛仔裤而告终。有一件事深深铭刻在我记忆中。那时我七八岁，正在房间里换去教堂的衣服。我拿了一块湿抹布擦脸、手和脚，但只擦会露出来的部分皮肤。我选了一件长袖棉布裙，这样我就不必洗胳膊了。母亲看着我把裙子胡乱套在头上，嫉妒点亮了她的双眼。
“If you were Grandma’s daughter,” she says, “we’d have been up at the crack of dawn preening your hair. Then the rest of the morning would be spent agonizing over which shoes, the white or the cream, would give the right impression.”
“你要是外婆的女儿，”她说，“我们会天不亮就起床梳头，然后一早上都为穿哪双鞋更漂亮而苦恼，是该穿白色那双，还是奶油色那双。”
Mother stares out the window. She has retreated into herself.
母亲盯着窗外，出了神。
Mother’s face twists into an ugly smile. She’s grasping for humor but the memory is jaundiced. “Even after we finally chose the cream, we’d be late, because at the last minute Grandma would panic and drive to Cousin Donna’s to borrow her cream shoes, which had a lower heel.”
母亲脸上挤出一丝苦笑。她想从记忆中找点儿幽默，寻到的却是偏见。“即便最终选择了奶油色那双，我们也会迟到，因为到最后关头，外婆又会慌作一团，开车到表姐唐娜家去借她那双奶油色鞋子，因为她那双鞋跟低一点。”
“White or cream?” I say. “Aren’t they the same color?” I owned only one pair of church shoes. They were black, or at least they’d been black when they belonged to my sister.
“白色还是奶油色？”我说，“不都是一样的颜色吗？”我只有一双去教堂的鞋子，是黑色的，或者说至少我姐姐穿的时候是黑色的。
With the dress on, I turn to the mirror and sand away the crusty dirt around my neckline, thinking how lucky Mother is to have escaped a world in which there was an important difference between white and cream, and where such questions might consume a perfectly good morning, a morning that might otherwise be spent plundering Dad’s junkyard with Luke’s goat.
穿好衣服后，我转身对着镜子，一边掸去领口上的泥垢，一边心想母亲能从那样的世界逃离真是太幸运了。在那个世界，白色和奶油色有重大区别，这样的问题可能会毁掉一个完美的早晨，一个本可以牵着卢克的山羊到爸爸的废料场四处寻宝的早晨。
Although I passed my childhood on the same mountain that my father had passed his, slopping pigs in the same iron trough, I know very little about his boyhood. He never talked about it, so all I have to go on are hints from my mother, who told me that, in his younger years, Grandpa-down-the-hill had been violent, with a hair-trigger temper. Mother’s use of the words “had been” always struck me as funny. We all knew better than to cross Grandpa. He had a short fuse, that was just fact and anybody in the valley could have told you as much. He was weatherworn inside and out, as taut and rugged as the horses he ran wild on the mountain.
虽然我的童年也是在父亲成长的那座山中度过，我们还在同一个食槽喂过猪，但我对他的童年知之甚少。他从未说起过，所以我对他的了解全部来自我母亲。她告诉我，在我父亲小时候，山下爷爷曾经脾气火爆，一点就着。母亲使用“曾经”一词总是让我觉得好笑。我们都知道最好别惹爷爷生气。他脾气暴躁是事实，山谷里每一个人都可以证实这点。他饱经风霜，全身上下像他放养在山上的野马一样粗糙而结实。
My father, Gene, was one of those young men who somehow manage to seem both solemn and mischievous. His physical appearance was striking — ebony hair, a strict, angular face, nose like an arrow pointing toward fierce, deep-set eyes. His lips were often pressed together in a jocular grin, as if all the world were his to laugh at.
我父亲吉恩是那种看上去既严肃又调皮的年轻人。他的外表很引人注目——乌黑的头发，棱角分明的脸，鼻子像一枚箭头一样指向凶巴巴的深邃的眼睛。他常常抿着嘴笑，像是在开玩笑，仿佛全世界都是他的笑料似的。
Dad’s mother worked for the Farm Bureau in town. As an adult, Dad would develop fierce opinions about women working, radical even for our rural Mormon community. “A woman’s place is in the home,” he would say every time he saw a married woman working in town. Now I’m older, I sometimes wonder if Dad’s fervor had more to do with his own mother than with doctrine. I wonder if he just wished that she had been home, so he wouldn’t have been left for all those long hours with Grandpa’s temper.
奶奶曾在镇上的农业局上班。成年后的父亲强烈反对女人工作，其观点甚至对我们这种乡间摩门教社区来说都很激进。“女人的位置在家里。”每当看到已婚女性在城里上班，他都会这么说。现在我长大些了，有时会想，父亲对此的强烈抵触是否更多与他母亲有关，而非教条所致。我在想他是否只是希望她当时能待在家里，这样他就不用和坏脾气的爷爷长时间单独相处了。
They met in town. Faye was waitressing at the bowling alley one Friday night when Gene wandered in with a pack of his friends. She’d never seen him before, so she knew immediately that he wasn’t from town and must have come from the mountains surrounding the valley. Farm life had made Gene different from other young men: he was serious for his age, more physically impressive and independent-minded.
他们在城里相遇了。法耶当时在一家保龄球馆当服务员。一个周五的晚上，吉恩和一群朋友闲逛进来。她以前从未见过他，所以马上就知道他不是城里人，一定是从山谷周围的山上来的。和其他年轻男人相比，农场生活让吉恩显得与众不同：他身上有股超越同龄人的严肃认真劲儿，身体健壮，富有主见，令人印象深刻。
There’s a sense of sovereignty that comes from life on a mountain, a perception of privacy and isolation, even of dominion. In that vast space you can sail unaccompanied for hours, afloat on pine and brush and rock. It’s a tranquillity born of sheer immensity; it calms with its very magnitude, which renders the merely human of no consequence. Gene was formed by this alpine hypnosis, this hushing of human drama.
山上的生活给人一种至高无上之感，一种遗世独立，甚至统治之感。在那广阔的空间里，你可以孤身一人几小时畅行无阻，漂浮在松林、灌木和岩石的海洋。那是无边无际的静谧，使人沉静，在它的广袤面前人类显得微不足道。吉恩在这种高山的催眠中长大。一切人类闹剧都仿佛安静下来。
Running the farm consumed Dad’s childhood. I doubt he expected to go to college. Still, the way Mother tells it, back then Dad was bursting with energy, laughter and panache. He drove a baby-blue Volkswagen Beetle, wore outlandish suits cut from colorful fabrics, and showcased a thick, fashionable mustache.
父亲的童年都耗在经营农场上。我怀疑他从没想过去上大学。尽管如此，母亲说当年父亲活力四射，爱闹爱笑，神气十足。他开一辆淡蓝色大众甲壳虫，身着五颜六色的面料做成的奇装异服，蓄着浓密的胡子，颇为时尚。
They were engaged soon after.
他们不久就订婚了。
In the valley, Faye tried to stop her ears against the constant gossip of a small town, whose opinions pushed in through the windows and crept under the doors. Mother often described herself as a pleaser: she said she couldn’t stop herself from speculating what people wanted her to be, and from contorting herself, compulsively, unwillingly, into whatever it was. Living in her respectable house in the center of town, crowded by four other houses, each so near anyone could peer through the windows and whisper a judgment, Faye felt trapped.
在山谷里，法耶试图不去听小镇上不断涌现的流言蜚语，它们透过窗户闯入，顺着门底钻了进来。母亲常把自己描述成一个讨好者，说她无法阻止自己去猜测别人想要她成为什么样的人，也无法阻止自己极不情愿地强迫自己做出改变。住在镇中心的体面房子里，周围紧挨着另外四幢房子，彼此之间近在咫尺，谁都可以透过窗户往里看，窃窃私语着对她评头论足。法耶感觉像是被困在牢笼之中。
I’ve often imagined the moment when Gene took Faye to the top of Buck’s Peak and she was, for the first time, unable to see the faces or hear the voices of the people in the town below. They were far away. Dwarfed by the mountain, hushed by the wind.
我经常想象吉恩把法耶带到巴克峰顶的那一刻。平生第一次，她看不见下面城镇里人们的面孔，也听不见他们的聒噪。这些都变得遥远。高山令其渺小，山风让其缄默。
Motherused to tell a story from the time before she was married. She had been close to her brother Lynn, so she took him to meet the man she hoped would be her husband. It was summer, dusk, and Dad’s cousins were roughhousing the way they did after a harvest. Lynn arrived and, seeing a room of bowlegged ruffians shouting at each other, fists clenched, swiping at the air, thought he was witnessing a brawl straight out of a John Wayne film. He wanted to call the police.
母亲曾讲过发生在她婚前的一个小故事。她和她哥哥林恩以前关系很好，于是带他去见这个她希望成为她丈夫的男人。那是一个夏日的黄昏，爸爸的堂兄弟们干完收割的活儿，正和往常一样聚在一起嬉戏打闹。林恩来了，看见一屋子罗圈腿的恶棍正挥舞着握紧的拳头，互相大吼大叫，他以为自己正在目睹约翰·韦恩[3]电影里的一场斗殴。他真想报警。【注：[3]John Wayne（1907－1979），美国演员，以出演西部片和战争片中的硬汉而闻名。】
“I told him to listen,” Mother would say, tears in her eyes from laughing. She always told this story the same way, and it was such a favorite that if she departed in any way from the usual script, we’d tell it for her. “I told him to pay attention to the actual words they were shouting. Everyone sounded mad as hornets, but really they were having a lovely conversation. You had to listen to what they were saying, not how they were saying it. I told him, That’s just how Westovers talk!”
“我叫他好好听听他们在说什么。”母亲说着笑出了眼泪。她总是用同样的方式讲述这个故事，我们太喜欢听了，每次她稍稍讲跑题了，我们就会替她讲下去。“我让他好好听他们到底在喊什么。每个人听上去都像疯了，但实际上却在开心地交谈。你得听他们在说什么，而不是怎么说的。我告诉他说，韦斯托弗家的人说话就是这样！”
By the time she’d finished we were usually on the floor. We’d cackle until our ribs hurt, imagining our prim, professorial uncle meeting Dad’s unruly crew. Lynn found the scene so distasteful he never went back, and in my whole life I never saw him on the mountain. Served him right, we thought, for his meddling, for trying to draw Mother back into that world of gabardine dresses and cream shoes. We understood that the dissolution of Mother’s family was the inauguration of ours. The two could not exist together. Only one could have her.
她讲完这个故事，我们常常笑到肋骨生疼，倒在地上打滚。我们想象着一本正经、老学究般的舅舅和爸爸家那帮野蛮的家伙见面的场景。林恩对这个场面极度反感，再也没来过，我这辈子从没在山上见过他。我们觉得这是他活该，谁让他多管闲事，想把母亲拉回那个充斥着华达呢裙和奶油色鞋子的世界。我们明白，母亲家庭的解体就是我们家的开始。两者无法并存，只有一个家能拥有她。
What I know about the engagement has come to me in bits and pieces, mostly from the stories Mother told. I know she had the ring before Dad served a mission — which was expected of all faithful Mormon men — and spent two years proselytizing in Florida. Lynn took advantage of this absence to introduce his sister to every marriageable man he could find this side of the Rockies, but none could make her forget the stern farm boy who ruled over his own mountain.
我对父母订婚这件事的了解零零碎碎，大部分来自母亲的讲述。所有虔诚的摩门教男人都要去传教，我知道爸爸在此之前就跟母亲订婚了，之后他在佛罗里达州传教了两年。林恩舅舅利用这次爸爸外出的机会，把落基山脉这边他能找到的所有适婚男子一一介绍给自己的妹妹认识，但是谁也不能让她忘记那个不苟言笑的农场男孩，巴克峰的主宰者。
Mother never told us that her family had opposed the engagement but we knew. There were traces the decades hadn’t erased. My father seldom set foot in Grandma-over-in-town’s house, and when he did he was sullen and stared at the door. As a child I scarcely knew my aunts, uncles or cousins on my mother’s side. We rarely visited them — I didn’t even know where most of them lived — and it was even rarer for them to visit the mountain. The exception was my aunt Angie, my mother’s youngest sister, who lived in town and insisted on seeing my mother.
母亲从未告诉我们，她的家人反对她与父亲订婚，但我们知道。有些痕迹几十年都抹不掉。我父亲很少去城里外婆家，即便去了，也是阴沉着脸，盯着门看。小时候我几乎不认识姨妈、舅舅以及母亲家那边的表兄弟姐妹。我们很少走亲戚——那时我甚至不知道他们住在哪里——而他们来我们山上就更稀奇了。安琪姨妈是唯一的例外，她是母亲最小的妹妹，住在城里，坚持跟母亲来往。
Gene returned from Florida and they were married.
吉恩从佛罗里达回来后，两人就结了婚。
LaRue sewed the wedding dress.
外婆拉鲁亲手缝制了婚纱。
I’ve only seen a single photograph from the wedding. It’s of my parents posing in front of a gossamer curtain of pale ivory. Mother is wearing a traditional dress of beaded silk and venetian lace, with a neckline that sits above her collarbone. An embroidered veil covers her head. My father wears a cream suit with wide black lapels. They are both intoxicated with happiness, Mother with a relaxed smile, Dad with a grin so large it pokes out from under the corners of his mustache.
我只见过一张婚礼照片，是父母在象牙白薄纱窗帘前摆拍的。母亲穿着一件传统丝绸裙子，上有串珠装饰和威尼斯花边，领口遮住锁骨，头上蒙着刺绣面纱。父亲穿着一套带黑色宽翻领的奶油色西装。他们都沉浸在幸福之中，母亲面带轻松的微笑，父亲咧嘴大笑，笑容甚至从胡子下面钻了出来。
I don’t know when the man in that photograph became the man I know as my father. Perhaps there was no single moment. Dad married when he was twenty-one, had his first son, my brother Tony, at twenty-two. When he was twenty-four, Dad asked Mother if they could hire an herbalist to midwife my brother Shawn. She agreed. Was that the first hint, or was it just Gene being Gene, eccentric and unconventional, trying to shock his disapproving in-laws? After all, when Tyler was born twenty months later, the birth took place in a hospital. When Dad was twenty-seven, Luke was born, at home, delivered by a midwife. Dad decided not to file for a birth certificate, a decision he repeated with Audrey, Richard and me. A few years later, around the time he turned thirty, Dad pulled my brothers out of school. I don’t remember it, because it was before I was born, but I wonder if perhaps that was a turning point. In the four years that followed, Dad got rid of the telephone and chose not to renew his license to drive. He stopped registering and insuring the family car. Then he began to hoard food.
我不知道照片里的那个男人是何时变成我所认识的父亲的。也许没有特定时刻。爸爸二十一岁结婚，二十二岁就有了第一个儿子——我大哥托尼。二十四岁时，他问母亲可否雇个草药师来给哥哥肖恩接生。母亲同意了。难道就是从这件事初现端倪？还是吉恩就是吉恩，脾气古怪、不合常规，故意要让对他不满的岳父母一家大跌眼镜？毕竟二十个月后有了泰勒，但他是在医院出生的。爸爸二十七岁时，卢克在家里出生，由一名助产士接生。爸爸决定不给他申请出生证明，对奥黛丽、理查德和我也坚持如此。又过了几年，三十岁左右的爸爸把我的几个哥哥从学校接回了家。这个我不记得，因为那时还没有我，但我想也许那是个转折点。接下来的四年里，爸爸扔掉了电话，驾照到期也不去更换，也不再为家里的汽车购买保险。接着他开始囤积食物。
It is difficult for me to believe that the untroubled young man in that photograph is my father. Fearful and anxious, he comes into focus for me as a weary middle-aged man stockpiling food and ammunition.
我很难相信照片上那个无忧无虑的年轻人是我父亲。他在我印象中是个疲惫不堪的中年男人，整日忧心忡忡，担惊受怕，忙于囤积粮食和弹药。
The irony was that if Dad was bipolar — or had any of a dozen disorders that might explain his behavior — the same paranoia that was a symptom of the illness would prevent its ever being diagnosed and treated. No one would ever know.
具有讽刺意味的是，如果爸爸果真患有躁郁症——或者患有能解释其行为的十几种失调症之一——那么其中一个共同的症状便是偏执狂，偏执会阻碍这种疾病的诊断和治疗。真相谁也无从得知。
Fourteen years after the incident with the Weavers, I would sit in a university classroom and listen to a professor of psychology describe something called bipolar disorder. Until that moment I had never heard of mental illness. I knew people could go crazy — they’d wear dead cats on their heads or fall in love with a turnip — but the notion that a person could be functional, lucid, persuasive, and something could still be wrong, had never occurred to me.
韦弗家事件发生十四年后，我坐在大学教室里，听一位心理学教授描述一种叫作双相情感障碍[4]的疾病。在此之前我从未听说过精神疾病这回事。我知道人会发疯——有人把死猫套在头上，有人爱上了一根萝卜——但我从未想到，一个人功能健全，头脑清晰，令人信服，却仍可能在哪方面有问题。【注：[4]bipolar disorder，又称躁郁症。】
The professor recited facts in a dull, earthy voice: the average age of onset is twenty-five; there may be no symptoms before then.
教授用沉闷平淡的语调陈述道：该病发病的平均年龄是二十五岁，在此之前可能没有任何症状。
This last part sounds like my father, but it is not the father my older brothers remember. Dad had just turned forty when the Feds laid siege to the Weavers, an event that confirmed his worst fears. After that he was at war, even if the war was only in his head. Perhaps that is why Tony looks at that photo and sees his father, and I see a stranger.
这最后一部分描述听起来像我父亲，却不是哥哥们记忆中的父亲。联邦政府人员围困韦弗一家的那一年，爸爸刚满四十岁，这一事件证实了他最担心的事。从那以后，他就一直处于备战状态，即便战争只存在于他的想象中。也许这就是为什么托尼在那张照片里看到的是他父亲，而我看到的却是一个陌生人。
I didn’t know her well.
我对她了解不多。
Grandma-over-in-town died three years ago, age eighty-six.
城里外婆三年前去世了，享年八十六岁。
That smile haunts me. It was constant, the only eternal thing, inscrutable, detached, dispassionate. Now that I’m older and I’ve taken the trouble to get to know her, mostly through my aunts and uncles, I know she was none of those things.
那微笑让我念念不忘。始终如一，神秘，超然，冷静，是唯一恒久不变之物。如今我长大了，主要通过姨妈和舅舅尽力去了解她，我于是知道她绝不像看上去的那样。
When I picture her now I conjure a single image, as if my memory is a slide projector and the tray is stuck. She’s sitting on a cushioned bench. Her hair pushes out of her head in tight curls, and her lips are pulled into a polite smile, which is welded in place. Her eyes are pleasant but unoccupied, as if she’s observing a staged drama.
现在想象她的样子，我的脑海里浮现出一个孤零零的画面，就好像我的记忆是一台幻灯机，而片盒却卡住了。画面上，她坐在带坐垫的长椅上，留着一头紧密的卷发，嘴角露出恰到好处的礼貌微笑。她的眼睛充满善意，安静闲适，仿佛在看一出舞台剧。
All those years I was passing in and out of her kitchen, and she never told me what it had been like for her, watching her daughter shut herself away, walled in by phantoms and paranoias.
这些年来，我多次进出她的厨房，但她从未告诉过我，眼睁睁看着女儿把自己隔绝起来，封闭在幻觉和偏执筑起的高墙里，她心里是什么滋味。
I attended the memorial. It was open casket and I found myself searching her face. The embalmers hadn’t gotten her lips right — the gracious smile she’d worn like an iron mask had been stripped away. It was the first time I’d seen her without it and that’s when it finally occurred to me: that Grandma was the only person who might have understood what was happening to me. How the paranoia and fundamentalism were carving up my life, how they were taking from me the people I cared about and leaving only degrees and certificates — an air of respectability — in their place. What was happening now had happened before. This was the second severing of mother and daughter. The tape was playing in a loop.
我参加了外婆的追悼会。在打开的棺材面前，我的目光在她脸上搜寻。殓尸官没处理好她的嘴唇——一直像铁面具般挂在她嘴角的亲切微笑消失了。这是我第一次看到她没了微笑，这时我才终于意识到，外婆生前可能是唯一一个了解我正在经历什么的人：偏执狂和原教旨主义如何瓜分了我的人生，它们如何把我在乎的人从我身边带走，只留下学位和证书——一种体面的虚空。现在正在发生的以前也曾发生。母女分离再度重演。磁带在循环播放。
0 条评论