【赫临译笔】爸爸的曼陀林

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ヮ成熟、羙°

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发表于 2013-7-16 14:59:24 |只看该作者 |倒序浏览

本帖最后由ヮ成熟、羙° 于 2013-7-16 15:03 编辑

爸爸的曼陀林

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爸爸自学演奏曼陀林，他是我们镇上弦乐器演奏最好的人之一。他不识谱，但一个曲子只要听上几遍，他就能演奏。他年少时曾经是一个小型乡村乐队的成员。他们经常在本地舞会上演奏，偶尔也为本地电台演奏。他津津乐道他是怎样排练，又如何在歌手佩西克莱恩的乐队赢得一席之地的。他告诉家人，自从他进了那个乐队，就一直没有回家。爸爸笃信宗教，他说在排练时，人们醉酒骂街，他不想在那种环境下浸染。

偶尔爸爸会取出他的曼陀林为家人演奏一番。我们三人孩子，特丽莎，蒙特还有我，小乔治，会跟着节奏演唱。比较著名的歌曲有田纳西华尔，港口灯标，在圣诞节期间，会演奏著名的银铃铛。“银铃铛，银铃铛，城里的圣诞节到了”会响彻屋子。爸爸最喜欢的一曲赞美歌是古老的十字架，我们很小时就学会了歌词，总是伴着他的演奏跟唱。另一曲我家里经常传唱的是沃尔特·迪斯尼主题曲戴维·克罗克特。爸爸只需听两遍，就会演奏了。“戴维，戴维·克罗克特，前方之王”这是我们家人最爱唱的一只曲子。爸爸知道我们爱看这个节目，爱唱这首歌，节目一结束，他就拿出曼陀林，我怎么也弄不明白，他只听几遍就能把曲子演奏那么好。我爱唱歌，但是不会演奏曼陀林，至今遗憾。

爸爸爱为家人演奏是因为他知道我们爱唱，也喜欢听他演奏。如果他能为别人带来乐趣，他会的，尤其是为他的家人。他总是那样，为了家人的享受牺牲自己的时间，自己的精力。我直到长大成人娶妻生子后，才意识到他为我们牺牲了那么多。

我于1962年1月加入美国空军。每次休假回家，我都要求爸爸演奏曼陀林。没有一个人象爸爸那样演奏曼陀林。那古老的乐器中流淌出的曲调直入灵魂，爸爸演奏时人似乎在发光，你能看出爸爸能为家人演奏那么好的曲子，他多么自豪。

爸爸小时候，帮爷爷在农场上干活。爷爷是佃农，耕种着地主的土地。1950年，我家离开那个农场。爸爸在本地一个石灰石采矿厂找到一份工作。1957年8月，采矿厂倒闭，爸爸又去找别的工作。他在马里兰州邓多克的欧文斯游艇公司工作过，也在托德钢铁厂工作过。在托德钢铁厂时，他遭遇了一个事故。他的工作是把角铁送上传送带，生产线前方的焊工才能完成他们的工作。那一天，爸爸左手的中指被碾在两块钢板中，做手术的医生无能为力，结果爸爸截去了一小段手指。他失去的手指不长，不影响他抓取任何东西，但却影响了他演奏曼陀林。

发生了这件事以后，爸爸就不太爱演奏曼陀林了。他觉得他演奏得不如以前的好了。当我休假回家要求他演奏时，他总找借口。最后我们把他说动了，他说：“好吧，但要知道，我已不能像以前那样控制住弦了。”或者说：“由于这根手指，我演奏得没有以前那样好了。”爸爸演奏水平的降低对我们家人没有丝毫影响。只要他演奏，我们就很高兴。只要这古老的曼陀林一演奏起来，我们就被带回到一段欢快美好的时光。“戴维，戴维·克罗克特，前方之王”再一次在西尼吉尼亚的贝克-你小镇上被唱响。

1993年8月爸爸被诊断出患了肺癌，已无法手术。他为了带着尊严地度过余生，选择不接受化疗。在他去世前一周，我们问他还能否为我们演奏曼陀林。他先是找了些借口，但最后说：“好吧。”他知道这很可能是他最后一次为我们演奏了。他调了调弦，演奏了几个音符。我环视四周，每个人的眼里都含着泪水。我们面前是一个卑微安静的老人，身上带有一股来自无所不知与他终生相扮的上帝的内在力量。爸爸将再也不能为我们演奏曼陀林了。我们感觉得出他再也没有力气演奏了。这使得我们对那一天的印象尤为深刻。爸爸在做他一生都在做的一件事——给与。虽然病成那样，他还在取悦别人。爸爸肯定能演奏那把曼陀林。

附：原文

My father was a self-taught mandolin player. He was one of the best string instrument players in our town. He could not read music, but if he heard a tune a few times, he could play it. When he was younger, he was a member of a small country music band. They would play at local dances and on a few occasions would play for the local radio station. He often told us how he had auditioned and earned a position in a band that featured Patsy Cline as their lead singer. He told the family that after he was hired he never went back. Dad was a very religious man. He stated that there was a lot of drinking and cursing the day of his audition and he did not want to be around that type of environment.
  Occasionally, Dad would get out his mandolin and play for the family. We three children: Trisha, Monte and I, George Jr., would often sing along. Songs such as the Tennessee Waltz, Harbor Lights and around Christmas time, the well-known rendition of Silver Bells. "Silver Bells, Silver Bells, its Christmas time in the city" would ring throughout the house. One of Dad's favorite hymns was "The Old Rugged Cross". We learned the words to the hymn when we were very young, and would sing it with Dad when he would play and sing. Another song that was often shared in our house was a song that accompanied the Walt Disney series: Davey Crockett. Dad only had to hear the song twice before he learned it well enough to play it. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier" was a favorite song for the family. He knew we enjoyed the song and the program and would often get out the mandolin after the program was over. I could never get over how he could play the songs so well after only hearing them a few times. I loved to sing, but I never learned how to play the mandolin. This is something I regret to this day.
  Dad loved to play the mandolin for his family he knew we enjoyed singing, and hearing him play. He was like that. If he could give pleasure to others, he would, especially his family. He was always there, sacrificing his time and efforts to see that his family had enough in their life. I had to mature into a man and have children of my own before I realized how much he had sacrificed.
I joined the United States Air Force in January of 1962. Whenever I would come home on leave, I would ask Dad to play the mandolin. Nobody played the mandolin like my father. He could touch your soul with the tones that came out of that old mandolin. He seemed to shine when he was playing. You could see his pride in his ability to play so well for his family.
  When Dad was younger, he worked for his father on the farm. His father was a farmer and sharecropped a farm for the man who owned the property. In 1950, our family moved from the farm. Dad had gained employment at the local limestone quarry. When the quarry closed in August of 1957, he had to seek other employment. He worked for Owens Yacht Company in Dundalk, Maryland and for Todd Steel in Point of Rocks, Maryland. While working at Todd Steel, he was involved in an accident. His job was to roll angle iron onto a conveyor so that the welders farther up the production line would have it to complete their job. On this particular day Dad got the third index finger of his left hand mashed between two pieces of steel. The doctor who operated on the finger could not save it, and Dad ended up having the tip of the finger amputated. He didn't lose enough of the finger where it would stop him picking up anything, but it did impact his ability to play the mandolin.
  After the accident, Dad was reluctant to play the mandolin. He felt that he could not play as well as he had before the accident. When I came home on leave and asked him to play he would make excuses for why he couldn't play. Eventually, we would wear him down and he would say "Okay, but remember, I can't hold down on the strings the way I used to" or "Since the accident to this finger I can't play as good". For the family it didn't make any difference that Dad couldn't play as well. We were just glad that he would play. When he played the old mandolin it would carry us back to a cheerful, happier time in our lives. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier", would again be heard in the little town of Bakerton, West Virginia.
August of 1993 my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. He chose not to receive chemotherapy treatments so that he could live out the rest of his life in dignity. About a week before his death, we asked Dad if he would play the mandolin for us. He made excuses but said "okay". He knew it would probably be the last time he would play for us. He tuned up the old mandolin and played a few notes. When I looked around, there was not a dry eye in the family. We saw before us a quiet humble man with an inner strength that comes from knowing God, and living with him in one's life. Dad would never play the mandolin for us again. We felt at the time that he wouldn't have enough strength to play, and that makes the memory of that day even stronger. Dad was doing something he had done all his life, giving. As sick as he was, he was still pleasing others. Dad sure could play that Mandolin!