米歇尔·麦格里安(Michelle Magorian),英国当代最具影响力的儿童文学家之一,1947年生于英格兰。她自幼热爱表演,曾留学法国马赛尔·马索巴黎国际默剧学校,成为一名职业演员。回到英国后,她开始了自己的表演生涯,同时对儿童文学产生了浓厚兴趣。1981年,米歇尔在写作学习班完成了自己的儿童文学处女作《晚安,汤姆先生》(Good Night, Mister Tom),一举夺得了卫报儿童小说奖(Guardian Children's Fiction Prize)。该小说还被BBC评为有史以来最伟大的100部小说之一。1998年,这部小说被改编成电影,受到了广大英国观众的欢迎。此后米歇尔还获过国际读书协会奖(International Reading Association Award),2008年又以其新书Just Henry获得英国科斯塔图书奖(Costa Book Award)。
Saturday Morning 周六清晨
When Willie awoke it was still very dark. The pain that had brought him sharply back to consciousness seared1) through his stomach. He held his breath and pushed his hand down the bed to touch his nightgown. It was soaking. It was then that he became aware that he was lying in between sheets. That's what they did to people after they had died, they laid them out in a bed. He sat up quickly and hit his head on the rafter2). Crawling out of bed, doubled over3) with the pain in his gut, he hobbled4) over to the window and let out a frightened cry. He was in a graveyard. He was going to be buried alive! The pain grew in intensity. He gave a loud moan and vomited all over the floor.
In the morning Tom found him huddled5) under the bed. The sheets were drenched6) in urine. He stripped them off the mattress and carried Willie down to the living room.
It was a hot, sultry7) day. The windows were wide open but no breeze entered the cottage. Willie stood in front of the stove. Through the side window he could see his gray garments and underwear hanging on a small washing line outside. Tom pulled the voluminous8) nightshirt over his head and threw it into a copper tub with the sheets. He sluiced9) Willie's body tenderly with cold water and soap. The weals10) stuck out mauve11) against his protruding12) ribs and swollen stomach. He could hardly stand.
"Sorry, mister," he kept repeating, fearfully, "sorry, Mister Tom."
Tom just grunted13) in his usual manner. He pulled Willie's clothes off the line and handed them to him. "Too hot for socks," he muttered. "Leave them off."
"I can't go aht wivout me socks14)," cried Willie in alarm. "Please, Mister Tom, I can't."
"Why?" Tom snorted.
"Me legs," he whispered. He didn't want everyone to see the marks of his sins. Tom sighed and threw the socks on the table. They had breakfast by the open window. Tom sat with his shirt sleeves rolled up, the beads of sweat trickling15) down the sides of his ruddy face, while Willie continued to shiver, managing to drink only half a cup of tea and eat a small piece of bread.
"Blimmin'16) blue," muttered Tom to himself as he observed Willie's face. He cleared the breakfast things and left him with the small addressed postcard that he had been provided with to write a message on for his mother. Willie sat dejectedly17) at the table and watched Tom drag his small mattress past the window. He could hear him scrubbing18) away at it. He lowered his head. He was so ashamed. Everyone who came near the church would see it and realize how wicked he had been. He hadn't meant to wet himself. He didn't even remember doing it.
He stared at the small postcard in front of him. Clasping19) a pencil between his fingers, he clenched his free hand into a fist and dug his knuckles into the table so that he wouldn't cry.
"How you gettin' on?" asked Tom.
Willie jumped and flushed hotly.
"Can't think of what to say, that it?" He took the pencil from Willie's hand and turned the postcard towards himself. "Not much room, eh?"
威利醒来的时候,天还很黑。胃里烧灼难耐,刚才正是这一阵疼痛使他猛然间恢复了意识,变得清醒。他屏住呼吸,伸出一只手,顺着床往下摸到了他的睡衣。睡衣已经湿透了。就在这时,他突然意识到他正裹在上下两床被单里。人死了以后,就是这样被平放在床上,裹上被单。他猛地坐起来,结果一头撞在了床架上。他爬下床,因肚子疼而弯着腰,踉踉跄跄扑到窗边,发出一声惊恐的尖叫。他在一片墓地里,他就要被活埋了!肚子越来越疼,他发出一声痛苦的哀嚎,吐了一地。
清晨时分,汤姆发现威利缩在床底下,身子蜷成一团。床上的被单全尿湿了。他把被单从垫子上扯了下来,抱着威利来到了客厅。
天气又闷又热,所有的窗户都敞开着,但小屋里却一丝风也进不来。威利站在壁炉前。从侧面的窗户望去,他能够看到他的灰色外衣和内衣裤挂在外面纤细的晾衣绳上。汤姆把那件宽大的睡衣从他头上扒下来,和那些被单一起扔到铜盆里。他用冷水和肥皂轻轻地给威利擦洗身体。淡紫色的鞭痕在威利突出的肋骨和肿胀的腹部显得极为醒目。他几乎要站不住了。
“对不起,先生,”他胆怯地不停重复着,“对不起,汤姆先生。”
汤姆只是像平常一样咕哝了一声。
他把威利的衣服从晾衣绳上拽下来,递给他。“天太热了,不用穿袜子,”他咕哝着,“别穿袜子了。”
“我出去不能不穿袜子,”威利惊慌地喊着,“求求您,汤姆先生,我不能不穿。”
“为什么?”汤姆哼了一声。
“因为我的腿。”他低声回答。他不想让每个人都看到他那些罪恶留下的痕迹。汤姆叹了口气,把袜子扔到了桌上。他们坐在敞开的窗户边吃早餐。汤姆卷着袖子,脸热得发红,汗珠顺着脸淌了下来,而威利还在发抖,他尽了全力,也就只喝了半杯茶,吃了一小块面包。
“脸色真糟糕。”汤姆看着威利的脸,自言自语地咕哝着。他把餐桌收拾干净,留给威利一张很小的明信片,明信片上已经写好了地址,这是他们把威利送来的时候给他的,这样威利有什么事的话可以写在明信片上寄给他妈妈。威利闷闷不乐地坐在桌边,看着汤姆拖着他的小床垫从窗前经过。他能听到他用力刷洗床垫的声音。他把脑袋低了下去,觉得羞愧极了。所有走近教堂的人都会看见这一幕,也都会知道他干了件多么恶劣的事。他不是故意要尿床的。他甚至都不记得自己尿了床。
他愣愣地盯着面前那张小明信片,一只手的手指紧扣铅笔,另一只手紧握成拳,指关节使劲儿地抵在桌上,为了不让自己哭出来。
“怎么样了?”汤姆问道。
威利吓了一跳,脸腾地一下变得通红。
“想不出来说点什么,是吧?”他从威利手里拿过铅笔,把明信片转过来朝向自己,“没多少地方可以写字,嗯?”
Willie tugged20) at his hair in embarrassment.
"Lost yer voice?"
"No, Mister Tom," he answered quietly.
"What d'you want to say, then?"
He shrugged his shoulders and looked dumbly at the grain on the wooden table.
"Are you happy here?"
He looked up quickly and nodded. "Yeh."
"Arrived safely, is happy and ..."
"Mister, Mister Tom," said Willie, interrupting him. "You goin' to tell her I was bad?"
"No," Tom said, and went on writing. "Here, listen to this. 'Dear Mrs. Beech, William ...' "
"She don't call me that. She calls me Willie."
He altered the word. " 'Willie,' " he continued, " 'has arrived safely, is happy and good. Yours sincerely, Mr. Thomas Oakley.' There." He handed the postcard and pencil back to him. "Now write yer name."
Willie paled. "I can't."
"Didn't they have school in London?"
"Yeh, but ..." and he trailed off21).
"How about readin'?" asked Tom. "You can read, can't you?"
"No."
"But you was lookin' at them books last night."
"I was lookin' at the pitchers22)."
Tom scratched his head. The village children were reading at least some words by the time they were six. This boy was eight, so he said. He glanced down at the label on the table to check. "William Beech. Born Sept. 7th, 1930."
"Nine on Thursdee," he remarked. "Your birthday's in five days' time." Willie didn't understand what was so particularly special about that.
"You're nine on Thursdee," Tom repeated, but Willie couldn't think of anything to say.
"Anyways," he continued, "about this here schoolin', didn't yer teacher help you?"
"Yeh, but ..." he hesitated. " 'E23) didn't like me. The others all called me Sillie Sissie Willie24)."
"What others?"
"At school."
"What about yer friends?"
He whispered something.
"I can't hear you, boy."
Willie cleared his throat. "I ain't got no friends."
Tom gave a snort. He noticed Willie looking at the black box on the stool.
"Blimmin' heat," he grumbled, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Pick up that box, William, and bring it over here."
Willie did so and placed it carefully on the table. "Lift the lid, then." Willie stared at it. "Go on, cloth ears25), open it."
He raised the lid and gazed at the brightly colored pots. "Paints?" he inquired.
Tom grunted in the affirmative26). "Bit old, but the pots'll do. You paint?"
Willie's face fell. He longed to paint. "Nah, 'cos I can't read ..."
"The ones that can read and write gits the paint, that it?"
"Yeh." Willie touched one of the pots gently with his hand and then hastily took it away. "I done drawin' with bits of chalk and crayon, on me own."
Tom straightened himself. "We'd best post yer letter. Mustn't worry yer mum. Climb out. Where's that ole thing?" he mumbled. "Sammy," he shouted, "Sammy."
Willie shaded his eyes and looked around for him. He caught sight of a mound27) of black-and-white fur slumped28) under the oak tree.
"Mister Tom," he said, pointing to the dog, "look." Sammy lifted his head. Heaving his body up to his feet, he left his cool sanctuary29) and ambled30) over towards them.
They walked round to the back garden of the cottage, past the little wooden outhouse that was the toilet. On top of its roof lay Willie's mattress.
"Don't worry, boy," said Tom, "it'll be dry by tonight."
威利很尴尬地扯了扯自己的头发。
“哑巴了?”
“不是,汤姆先生。”他轻轻回答。
“那你想说点什么?”
他耸了耸肩,呆呆地看着木桌上的木纹。
“你在这儿开心吗?”
他赶紧抬起头,使劲点了点, “嗯。”
“已安全到达,在这里很开心,还有……”
“先生,汤姆先生,”威利打断他,“你是要跟她说我不乖吗?”
“不是,”汤姆一边说,一边接着写,“来听听这个,‘亲爱的比奇夫人,威廉……’”
“她不那么叫我,她叫我威利。”
他把那个词改了过来,“‘威利’,”他继续说着,“‘已经安全到达,他在这里很开心,一切都好。您忠诚的,托马斯·欧克利。’喏。”他把明信片和铅笔递回给他,“现在写上你的名字吧。”
威利的脸变得煞白,“我不会。”
“难道伦敦没有学校吗?”
“有,不过……”他的声音越来越小。
“那你识字吗?”汤姆问道,“你识字,对吗?”
“不。”
“可是你昨天晚上还在看书呢。”
“我在看书里面的图画。”
汤姆挠了挠头,乡下孩子到了六岁至少也认得几个字了。这个男孩八岁了,他自己是这么说的。汤姆瞥了一眼桌上的标签核实了一下,“威廉·比奇。1930年9月7号出生。”
“这周四就满九岁了,”他说,“还有五天就到你生日了。”生日就生日呗,威利不明白这有什么特别的。
“这周四,你就九岁了,”汤姆又重复了一遍,但威利还是想不到该怎么接他的话。
“不管怎样,”他接着说,“关于这个识字的事,你老师没帮你吗?”
“帮了,可是……”他犹豫了一下,“她不喜欢我。其他人都叫我傻娘娘腔威利。”
“哪些其他人?”
“学校里那些。”
“那你的朋友们呢?”
他低声嘟囔了几句。
“我听不到你说什么,孩子。”
威利清了清嗓子,“我没有朋友。”
汤姆哼了一声。他发现威利正看着凳子上的黑盒子。
“真是够热的,”他咕哝了一句,掏出手绢擦了擦额头,“去把那个盒子捡起来,威廉,拿到这里来。”
威利照做了,并把它小心翼翼地放在桌子上。“把盖子打开吧。”威利仍然盯着盒子不动。“动手啊,你聋了吗,打开它。”
他打开盖子,里面有很多色彩鲜亮的罐子,他的眼睛都直了。“是画画用的吗?”他问道。
汤姆咕哝着表示肯定。“有点儿旧了,但是这些罐子还能用。你画画吗?”
威利的脸垮了下来。他很想画画。“不画,因为我不识字……”
“只有能识字能写字的人才能画画,是吗?”
“嗯。”威利用手轻轻地碰了一下其中一个罐子,然后又很快把手拿开了。“我用粉笔头和蜡笔头画过,自己瞎画的。”
汤姆直起身子。“我们最好先把你的信寄了。别让你妈妈担心。出来吧。那老伙计哪儿去了?”他咕咕哝哝道。“萨米,”他喊了起来,“萨米。”
威利抬手遮起眼睛,四处张望着寻找。他看见橡树下面软绵绵地趴着一堆黑白相间的毛茸茸的东西。
“汤姆先生,”他说着,指向那只狗,“看。”萨米抬起头。只见它拱起身子站了起来,离开那片阴凉地,慢慢地挪着步子朝他们走来。
他们绕了一圈走到了房子的后花园,路上经过了一个小木屋,那是他们的厕所。小木屋的屋顶上还晾着威利的床垫。
“别担心,孩子,”汤姆说,“今晚就能干。”
赏析
正如同样以二战为背景的魔幻小说《纳尼亚》(Nania)一样,《晚安,汤姆先生》讲述的也是在战火纷飞中一个英格兰男孩的故事。如果说克莱夫·刘易斯(Clive Lewis)把读者带进了一个魔幻般的儿童理想世界中的话,那么米歇尔·麦格里安则让读者找到了心灵的家园。
1939年,第二次世界大战使得曾经的日不落帝国硝烟弥漫,英伦三岛最重要的大都市伦敦成了最不安全的地方。因此,九岁的威廉·比奇也被疏散到了乡下。当时的英国乡村虽然和18世纪英国油画所描绘的一样依然风光旖旎,但在战争阴影的笼罩之下,人们无法享受田园的闲适与宁谧。来到乡下的威利被分到一个名叫汤姆的鳏居老人家里。汤姆性情孤僻,内心却出奇地善良。威利住到汤姆家后,汤姆发现这个小男孩不仅经常尿床,而且还不识字,更加严重的是,小威利营养不良、浑身是伤,这一切都是因为他没有正常的母爱。原来,威利寡居的母亲是一个清教徒极端分子,对他动辄打骂,从精神和肉体上摧残着他的成长。
汤姆没有因此而嫌弃小威利,他无声地照顾着这个小男孩,在他尿床后,毫无怨言地为他换洗床褥;在他生病时带他去看医生;在他想画画的时候鼓励他,还送他上学。每天晚上,汤姆如同慈爱的父亲一般看着威利入睡,心里默默说着“晚安,威利”。原来,汤姆的妻子和他同样名叫威利的儿子已经永远地离开了他。
威利在汤姆的精心照顾下逐渐变得活泼开朗,并开始受到老师同学的喜爱,交到了像扎克这样的好朋友。而在照顾威利的过程中,汤姆也找到了生活的意义,开始直面妻儿离世的伤心往事。然而,好景不长,当伦敦不再被认为是德军攻击的目标时,小威利在母亲来信的催促下,不得不返城了。重回伦敦是威利的噩梦。威利回来的时候,单身的母亲居然又生了一个小女孩,为了防止婴孩哭叫,她竟然用胶带封上了自己女儿的嘴!而威利则常常因为不再像以前那般俯首贴耳而惨遭毒打。在远方思念威利的汤姆,经历了一场威利绝望呼救的梦魇之后,终于难耐重重忧虑,起身赶往伦敦。上天垂怜,当汤姆几经波折,终于找到威利的时候,可怜的小男孩已经被他那疯狂的母亲锁在楼梯下的小房间里好几天了,他怀抱着死去的妹妹,正在绝望中等待死亡的降临。汤姆不顾警察的反对,默默地抱起威利,把他带回乡下。经过一段时间的悉心呵护,小威利终于康复了,而汤姆也得到了孩子的监护权。然而,威利的好朋友扎克却在回伦敦途中不幸遇难。威利痛不欲生,但是最终在汤姆的陪伴下度过了生命中的又一次磨难,完成了人生中的再一次成长。小说结尾时,小威利的一句对白不禁让人潸然泪下,他看着汤姆先生,深情地说:“爸, 我正长大!(Dad, I am growing!)”
本书分23节,前半部分是威利在韦沃德小镇上和汤姆先生的幸福生活,第16节以后是小威利重回伦敦后的经历和被救出以后的成长历程。
这里节选的是书中的第三节《周六清晨》。在这一节中,初到汤姆家的小威利尿床了,而汤姆并未责备他,只是默默地刷洗了被褥,给他擦洗了遍体鳞伤的身体,并鼓励不识字的他画画。这一节可以说是汤姆和威利之间的一次隐性的心灵碰撞:战战兢兢的威利得到了意想不到的精心照顾,而性格孤僻的汤姆也开始对这个身世可怜的小家伙心生同情,温暖就此弥漫开来,而他们之间亦师亦父的感情也就此展开。
汤姆先生是威利心目中的慈父,更是他人生的导师。有时候,苦难的经历是人生的一笔宝贵财富,汤姆把自己的这笔财富化成无声的大爱,宛如汩汩的清泉,淌过小威利的心田,及时拯救了他在绝望中飘零的灵魂,使他在残酷的环境下最终健康地成长起来。
为人师者不必学富五车,更重要的是高尚的道德;为人父者也不必金玉满堂,更重要的是在精神上能给予力量。我们怀着感恩的心,读着这位人生导师的故事,成长着,体味着如师如父的大爱如涓涓细流般流进心中,不禁肃然起敬,感动不已。
1. sear [sIE(r)] vt. 烧灼;灼痛
2. rafter [5rB:ftE(r)] n. 椽(支撑起一个斜屋顶的斜梁中的一根)
3. double over: (因剧痛或大笑等而)弯着身子
4. hobble [5hCbl] vi. 跛行,一瘸一拐地行走
5. huddle [5hQdl] vi. 缩成一团,蜷缩
6. drench [drentF] vt. 使湿透
7. sultry [5sQltrI] adj. 湿热的,闷热的
8. voluminous [vE5lju:mInEs] adj. 宽松的
9. sluice [slu:s] vt. (引水)冲洗
10. weal [wi:l] n. (皮肤受抽打后)条状鞭痕;(隆起的)伤痕
11. mauve [mEuv] adj. 淡紫色的
12. protruding [prEu5tru:dIN] adj. 伸出的;突出的
13. grunt [^rQnt] vt. 咕哝着表示;咕哝着说
14. I can't go aht wivout me socks: 此句应为:I can't go out without my socks. 文中多处出现方言或口语等非标准英语。
15. trickle [5trIkl] vi. 成小股流动;淌,滴
16. blimmin': 英国俚语,bloody和bleedin'的礼貌用法,用在对话中与bloomin'意思相近,用于增强厌恶感。
17. dejectedly [dI5d\ektIdlI] adv. 情绪低落地;垂头丧气地
18. scrub [skrQb] vi. 用力擦洗
19. clasp [klB:sp] vt. 握紧;扣紧
20. tug [tQ^] vt. 用力拖(或拉)
21. trail off: 逐渐减弱;缩小
22. pitcher [5pItFE(r)] n. 罐,壶。此处应为picture,写作pitcher是为了描写威利的发音。
23. 'E: 指she,写作'E同样是为了描写威利的发音。
24. Sillie Sissie Willie: 傻娘娘腔威利。sillie即silly,意为“傻的,愚蠢的”;sissie即sissy,意为“娘娘腔的男子”。
25. cloth ears: <英口> 听觉不灵(或不能辨别音调)的耳朵
26. in the affirmative: 以肯定方式;表示赞成
27. mound [maund] n. 土堆;土墩
28. slump [slQmp] vi. (沉重或突然地)倒下
29. sanctuary [5sANktjuErI] n. 避难所
30. amble [5Ambl] vi. 缓行;从容漫步