19-9-2 【英语美文】子欲养而亲不待，值得一读的世界科幻最高双奖《手中纸，心中爱》

Paper menagerie

ByKen Liu – Edited version

1.       One of my earliest memoriesstarts with me sobbing. I refused tobe soothed no matter what Mom andDad tried.  Eventually, Mom took me intothe kitchen and sat me down at the breakfast table. "Kan, kan," shesaid.  I stopped crying and watched her,curious. She turned a piece of old wrapping paper over and folded it again. She pleated, packed, tucked, rolled, and twisted until thepaper disappeared between her cupped hands. Then she lifted the folded-up paper packet to her mouth and blew intoit, like a balloon. "Kan," she said. "Laohu." Suddenly, alittle paper tiger stood on the table, the size of two fists placed together.

2.       I reached out to Mom'screation. Its tail twitched, and it pounced playfully at my finger."Rawrr-sa," it growled, the sound somewhere between a cat and rustling newspapers. I laughed,startled, and stroked its back with an index finger. At my request, Mom alsomade a goat, a deer, and a water buffalo out of wrapping paper. I didn't knowthis at the time, but Mom's kind was special. This was her magic.

3.       Mark, one of the neighbourhoodboys, came over years after mom gave me Laohu and the other animals. "Showme your toys." He said.  I didn'thave any toys except my paper menagerie. Laohu was now very worn, patched all over with tape and glue,evidence of the years of repairs Mom and I had done on him. "Xiaolaohu," I said, and stopped. I switched to English. "This is Tiger." "That doesn't look like a tiger atall. Your Mom makes toys for you from trash?" I had never thought of Laohuas trash. Laohu was insulted too and growled and leapt at Mark's face. Markscreamed, more out of fear and surprise than pain. Laohu was only made ofpaper, after all.  Mark grabbed Laohu and crumpled him in his hand and torehim in half. "Here's your stupid cheap Chinese garbage."

4.       After Mark left, I spent a longtime trying, without success, to tape together the pieces, smooth out thepaper, and follow the creases to refoldLaohu. Slowly, the other animals came into the living room and gathered aroundus, me and the torn wrapping paper that used to be Laohu, to comfort us. But Iwas left defeated and empty.

5.       The following days, it turnedout that my fight with Mark was not over yet. Mark was popular at school. I came home that Friday at the end of the first twoweeks of the school year, depressed, silent, refusing to talk to anyone,especially my mother. Even though I had never told him what happened in school,my dad seemed to understand.  "Youknew this was going to happen someday. What did you expect?" My dad saidto mom. Mom dropped her hands to her side. She sat, looking from Dad to me, andback to Dad again. She tried to speak, stopped, and tried again, and stoppedagain. "Jack needs to fit in, he can’t if you keep speaking Chinese to him."

6.       Mom looked at him. "If Isay 'love,' I feel here." She pointed to her lips. "If I say 'ai,' Ifeel here." She put her hand over her heart.  Dad shook his head. "You are inAmerica." "And I want some real toys." I said. Later thatevening, I packed the paper menagerie in a large shoebox and put it under thebed.

7.       If Mom spoke to me in Chinese,I refused to answer her. After a while, she tried to use more English. But heraccent and broken sentences embarrassed me. I tried to correct her. Eventually, she stopped speakingaltogether if I were around. She saw that I was annoyed, and stopped.

8.       Then the day came that Dad andI stood by the side of Mom, lying on the hospital bed. For years she hadrefused to go to the doctor for the pain inside her that she said was no big deal.It was Cancer, no cure could help. "Jack,if — " she was caught up in a fit of coughing, and could not speak for some time. "If I don't make it, don'tbe too sad and hurt your health. Focus on your life. Just keep that box youhave in the attic with you, andevery year, at Qingming, just take it out and think about me. I'll be with youalways."  She died soon after. Thepaper animals did not move since. Perhaps whatever magic had animated them stopped when Mom died. Orperhaps I had only imagined that these paper constructions were once alive.  

9.       It was the first weekend inApril, two years after Mom's death. I was home, lazily flipping through the TVchannels. Then…a rustle. I looked upand saw that a ball of wrapping paper and torn tape was on the floor next tothe bookshelf. I walked over to pick it up for the trash. The ball of papershifted, unfurled itself, and I sawthat it was Laohu, who I hadn't thought about in a very long time."Rawrr-sa." Mom must have put him back together after I had given up.He was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe it was just that back then my fistswere smaller. I sat down on the floor, and reached out a finger. Laohu's tailtwitched, and he pounced playfully. I laughed, stroking his back. Laohu purred under my hand. “How've you been,old buddy? “Laohu stopped playing, and proceeded to unfold himself.

10.   I had never learned to readChinese, but I knew the characters for son, and they were at the top corner ofthe piece of paper Laohu was made of. I went to the computer to check theInternet. Today was Qingming. I rushed outside and asked a Chinese tourist onthe street to help me read the rest.

11.   It was a letter, written by mymother. “Son, we haven't talked in a long time. So I decided to write to you.I'm going to write in one of the paper animals I made for you that you used tolike so much.  I was so happy when youwere born and I looked into your face and saw shades of my mother, my father, and myself. I had lost my entirefamily, everything I ever knew and loved. But there you were, and your face wasproof that they were real. I hadn't made them up. Son, I know that you do notlike your Chinese eyes, which are my eyes. I know that you do not like yourChinese hair, which is my hair. But can you understand how much joy your veryexistence brought to me? And can you understand how it felt when you stoppedtalking to me and won't let me talk to you in Chinese? I felt I was losingeverything all over again. Why won't you talk to me, son? The pain makes ithard to write.”

12.   Following the creases, Irefolded the paper back into Laohu. I cradled him in the crook of my arm, and as he purred, we began the walk home.