本帖最后由 ヮ成熟、羙° 于 2013-9-27 08:32 编辑
母亲的手
荷叶/译
夜复一夜，她会过来给我掖掖被子，我早就不是孩子了。她长期的习惯是俯身，推开我的长发，吻一下我的前额。
我不知从什么时候开始讨厌她的手推开我头发的方式。我确实很讨厌那双劳作的手粗糙地刮着我的皮肤。终于，一天晚上，我朝她喊道：“别再这样了，你的手太粗糙了！”她无言以对，但此后再也没有用那种熟悉的示爱方式来结束我的一天。
岁月流逝，我的思绪一次又一次地回到那一夜。我开始怀念母亲的手，怀念前额的吻别。这件事有时似乎离我很近，有时很远，但一直蛰伏在我的潜意识里。
多年过去，我已不再是个女孩。妈妈也远过七十，那双我曾经认为如此粗糙的手依然为我和我的家人操劳着。她一直是我们的医生，伸手到药柜里取药，缓解一个女孩的胃痛，一个男孩的膝盖擦伤。她炸的鸡天下第一……她能除掉蓝色牛仔裤上的污渍，这些我却永远做不到……
现在，我的孩子们已长大成人，纷纷离去。妈妈也不再拥有爸爸了。在一些特殊场合，我会来到她隔壁，与她共度漫漫长夜。那是感恩节的深夜，我躺在儿时的卧室里，一只熟悉的手掌，犹犹豫豫地穿过我的脸庞，轻轻掠去我前额的头发，接着，一个如此温柔的吻，轻触我的睫毛。
记忆中，我上千次地回忆着那个晚上，一个年轻的声音在抱怨着：“别再这样了，你的手太粗糙了！”手捧着妈妈的手，我脱口说出，我对那晚有多后悔。我想她一定会像我一样记得。但妈妈不知我在说些什么。她早就忘了，早就原谅了我。
那一夜，我带着对温柔的母亲以及她体贴的双手的全新感受，酣然入梦。我背负了那么久的负疚感烟消云散。
附：原文
Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead. I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love. Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind. Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could... Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow. In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, "Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago. That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found. | 
发表于 2013-9-27 08:28:06
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发表于 2013-9-27 22:07:26
