小小鸟 第10期

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如果我是一位收藏家，只能收藏一件东西，那我会选择――童心！有些东西，只有当你已经失去了，你才会意识到它的存在，就像清新的空气，就像我们头顶那片曾经一尘不染的蓝天……即使生活是残酷的，但记忆所及，我们仍旧拥有那些宝贵的纯真年代。

Rita smoothed suntan lotion onto her shoulders as she watched her niece sitting cross-legged in the sand, poking1 a shell fragment with someone’s discarded straw.

“Why isn’t she playing with the other children?” she asked her sister.

“She’d rather sit and mope2.”

“Why?”

Mae picked up a thermos3, unscrewed the cap and poured iced coffee into a paper cup.

“Because I’m heartless. Did you put sugar in here?”

Days earlier, Cynthia squatted4 to look at a tiny creature on the sidewalk. It was a baby bird, rubbery pink like a pencil eraser, jerking its head back and forth on a neck so thin it made her chest ache. She looked up at the branches overhead, wondering if there was a nest it had fallen from.

Her mother had told her you could get a disease from touching birds. Cynthia examined her hands, considering. Then she stretched out the bottom of her tee-shirt and used a twig to gently roll the delicate thing onto it. Cradling it with one hand beneath the fabric5, she stood, walked into the house and marched softly upstairs to her bedroom.

Still holding the weightless bird in her shirt’s hammock6, Cynthia pulled an empty shoebox from her closet and lined it with a bandana7 from her dresser drawer. Slowly, she transferred her foundling8 to its new home.

“Mom?” Cynthia entered the kitchen timidly, holding the box in front of her like a sacrament9.

“Did you make your bed?”

“I found a baby bird. On the sidewalk.”

Her mother turned to face her, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Good lord,”she said, peering into the box.

“I rescued it.”

The bird lifted its head in the direction of Cynthia’s mother, and she stepped back.

“It can’t fly,” the child said.

Her mother waved away the comment, as if it was too obvious to respond to. “It can’t survive without its mother. It’s too young.”

“I’ll feed it.”

“Use what?”

“I don’t no. Can I call a vet and ask?”

“Cynthia――”

“Please?”

She took the box into bed with her that night, as the vet had explained that the bird would need to be fed every four hours, round-the-clock. Tucked into the corner was an eyedropper bottle, washed clean and filled with the formula he had told her how to make using milk, water, sugar and a driblet10 of scotch11. Before she went to sleep, Cynthia whistled the best she could and the tiny beak opened. As she squeezed in one-two drops, the frail neck moved wildly as it did before, making her tummy12 flutter again, with worry. She clicked off the light and closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up at least once during the night to care for her charge.

After the second night had passed, Cynthia grew more confident that her foundling would flourish. She held the box on her lap as she sat on the swing in her backyard, whispering to the bird that it would one day grow feathers and fly.

Her mother appeared at the back door.

“We’re going to the beach with Aunt Rita,” she said.

“Today?”

“Tut on your bathing suit. The orange.”

“I’m taking the bird.”

Her mother folded her arms. “Absolutely not.”

“It has to be fed every four hours, round-the-clock.”

“Sabine will feed it,” her mother said, referring to the lady who came once a week to clean their house.

“She won’t! She’ll kill it!”

The screendoor slammed as her mother went back into the house.

Cynthia patted13 an indentation14 in the sand and began to line it with shards15 of driftwood, snaggles of seaweed and delicate shell fragments.

“What are you making?” her aunt Rita asked.

“A nest.”

Rita turned to her sister, who shrugged.

“She’s playing mama bird,” Mae said. “She found a sickly little chick and thinks she can nurse it back to health.”

Rita smiled and lowered the back of her lounge chair. “Reminds me of someone else at that age.”

“What are you talking about?” Mae dabbed16 sunblock on her nose.

“Please.”

When they got home from the beach, Cynthia bolted17 out of the car, leaving her sandy thongs18 on the stoop19, and rushed into the kitchen where she had left the bird with strict instructions for Sabine.

By the time her mother got in the door, the girl was hunched20 over the box, her face contorted21 and red. Her mother looked inside at the small, still creature and nudged22 it with her fingernail. It was stiff. Cynthia let out a wail and ran into the backyard with her dead treasure.

She sat on the swing and sobbed23 over the shoebox. Her mother stood at the screendoor for a long time. Finally, she approached, lowering herself into the swing next to Cynthia’s.

“It was too young,” she said softly, the swing creaking24 as she moved back and forth. “It wasn’t,” the child seethed25. “Why couldn’t you let me take it with us?”

Mae reached into the box and picked up the tiny carcass26, holding it in her two hands. Cynthia sniffed hard and looked at her mother, whose knees were bent, her sandy toes curled beneath her.

“Why couldn’t you?” Cynthia insisted.

Her mother stood and placed the tiny thing back into the box and set it on the ground. Then she wiped her daughter’s tears with the same hands that held the dead bird.

“You killed it,” Cynthia said, but her voice was soft. Already, something in her mother’s presence diminished the edges of her fury.

Cynthia rested her head against her mother’s chest. “You should have let me take it with us.”

Her mother absently stroked the back of her head, as if she was trying to remember something.

丽塔一边往肩上抹着防晒油，一边看着她的外甥女。小姑娘盘腿坐在沙滩上，正用别人扔掉的吸管拨弄着一个贝壳残片。

“她为什么不和别的小孩一起玩呢？”丽塔问她的妹妹。

“她情愿坐在那里生闷气。”

“怎么了？”

梅拿起保温瓶，旋开盖子把冰咖啡倒进纸杯里。

“因为我太无情了。你这里加糖了吗？”

几天前，辛西娅在人行道上发现了一只小动物，便蹲下来看。这只粉嫩的雏鸟软得跟橡皮一样，它的脑袋在细细的脖子上来回地抽搐着，令她感到心痛。她抬头望了望头顶上的树枝，看有没有鸟窝，也许它是从那里跌下来的。

她妈妈曾经跟她说过，碰过鸟儿可能会得病。辛西娅仔细地看了看双手，琢磨了一会儿。然后她把T恤下摆拉长，用一根小树枝轻轻把这个弱小的东西拨了上来。她用一只手隔着衣服兜住它，站了起来。她走到屋子里，轻轻地跨上楼梯，进了自己的卧室。

辛西娅依然用T恤兜着这只轻若无物的小鸟，从壁橱里拽出一只空鞋盒，用矮柜抽屉里找到的头巾垫好，接着慢慢地把这只弃鸟放进了它的新家。

“妈妈？”辛西娅提心吊胆地走进厨房。她把鞋盒捧在胸前，像捧着很神圣的东西一样。

“你铺好床了吗？”

“我发现了一只雏鸟。在人行道上发现的。”

她妈妈转过身来，把手在干毛布上擦了擦。“天哪！”她眯起眼睛朝盒子里看了一眼，说道。

“我救了它的命。”

小鸟朝辛西娅的妈妈抬起了头，妈妈往后退了两步。

“她飞不起来的。” 辛西娅说。

妈妈摆了摆手，答案似乎不言自明。“没有自己的妈妈它是活不下去的，它太小了。”

“我来喂它。”

“用什么喂？”

“不知道。我可以打电话问兽医吗？”

“辛西娅――”

“求您了？”

那天晚上辛西娅把盒子带上了床，因为兽医讲过，要不间断地每隔四小时喂小鸟一次。她把眼药水瓶子洗干净，倒进用牛奶、水、糖和少量威士忌调配出来的配方奶，这是兽医教她的。然后，她把瓶子塞在床角。临睡前，辛西娅拼命地吹口哨，鸟儿终于张开了小嘴。她滴进去一两滴，小鸟脆弱的脖子像开始一样猛烈地晃动起来，辛西娅的心又一紧，焦灼不安起来。

她关了灯，闭上双眼，希望自己夜里至少能醒来一次，照看这只小鸟。

两个晚上过去了，辛西娅更加确信这只弃鸟会恢复健康。她坐在后院的秋千上，把盒子放在膝上，轻轻地对小鸟说，总有一天它会长出羽毛飞起来的。

她妈妈来到了后门口。

“我们要和丽塔姨妈一起去海滩。”妈妈说。

“今天吗？”

“把泳衣换上，橙色的那件。”

“我要带小鸟去。”

妈妈双手交叉在胸前说，“绝对不行。”

“它每隔四小时就要喂一次呀。”

“萨班会喂它的，”妈妈说的是那个每周来打扫一次房子的女人。

“她不会喂的！她会弄死它的！”

妈妈回到屋子里，把纱门砰地一声带上。

辛西娅在沙地里拓出一个凹槽，然后铺上浮木碎片、支离的海草和小巧的贝壳残片。

“你在做什么？”丽塔姨妈问。

“鸟窝。”

丽塔掉头看她妹妹，后者耸了耸肩。

“她是在扮鸟妈妈呢，”梅说，“她发现了一只病恹恹的小鸟，以为自己可以照料它，让它恢复健康。”

丽塔笑了笑，把躺椅背放低，“这让我想起某个人像她这么大时的样子。”

“你在说什么呀？”梅又在鼻子上抹了点防晒油。

“别装了。”

她们从海滩一回到家，辛西娅就从车上冲了出来，把沙滩拖鞋甩在门廊边，赶到了厨房里，她是在这把小鸟托付给萨班，并且细细叮嘱过的。

她妈妈进门时，辛西娅已俯在盒子上方，红通通的小脸都变形了。妈妈看见盒子里的那只小东西一动不动，便用指甲轻轻碰了碰它。小鸟已经僵硬了。辛西娅放声大哭，带着心爱的死鸟跑进了后院。

她坐在秋千上对着盒子抽泣。妈妈在纱门边站了好一会儿。最终，她走过来，坐到辛西娅旁边的秋千上。

“它太小了。”她柔声说。秋千随着她来回摆动发出吱吱地声音。

“它不小，” 辛西娅压住怒气，“你为什么不让我带它一起去？”

梅把手伸进盒子拾起这具小尸体，用两手捧住。辛西娅拼命止住哭，看着她妈妈。妈妈的膝盖弯着，脚尖向下绷着。

“你为什么不让？”辛西娅不依不饶。

妈妈站起来，把小鸟放回盒子里，再把盒子放在地上，然后用捧过死鸟的手擦去女儿的泪珠。

“是你让它死的。”辛西娅说，声音却低了下来。妈妈陪在身旁，这或多或少已经减轻了她的愤怒。

辛西娅把头靠在妈妈胸前，“你应该让我带上它的。”

妈妈出神地抚摸着女儿的后脑勺，似乎想起了什么。

注释

1.poke v.拨开

2.mope v.闷闷不乐

3.thermos n.热水瓶

4.squat v. 蹲伏

5.fabric n.织物，布

6.hammock n.吊床

7.bandana n.花色丝质大手帕

8.foundling n.弃儿

9.sacrament n.【基督教】圣礼

10.driblet n.少量，微量

11.scotch n.威士忌

12.tummy n.胃

13.pat v.轻拍

14.indentation n.缺口，印凹痕

15.shard n. 碎片

16.dab v.轻敷，涂

17.bolt v.逃跑

18.thong n.皮带

19.stoop n.弯腰，屈背

20.hunch v.弓起背部

21.contorted adj.扭曲的

22.nudge n.用肘轻推

23.sob v.哭诉

24.creak v. 吱吱作响

25.seethe v.沸腾

26.carcass n.畜体