【心灵鸡汤】你真漂亮，她说

我与父亲不相见已二年余了，我最不能忘记的是他的背影。

那年冬天，祖母死了，父亲的差使也交卸了，正是祸不单行的日子。我从北京到徐州，打算跟着父亲奔丧回家。到徐州见着父亲，看见满院狼藉的东西，又想起祖母，不禁簌簌地流下眼泪。父亲说：“事已如此，不必难过，好在天无绝人之路！”

回家变卖典质，父亲还了亏空；又借钱办了丧事。这些日子，家中光景很是惨澹，一半为了丧事，一半为了父亲赋闲。丧事完毕，父亲要到南京谋事，我也要回北京念书，我们便同行。

到南京时，有朋友约去游逛，勾留了一日；第二日上午便须渡江到浦口，下午上车北去。父亲因为事忙，本已说定不送我，叫旅馆里一个熟识的茶房陪我同去。他再三嘱咐茶房，甚是仔细。但他终于不放心，怕茶房不妥帖；颇踌躇了一会。其实我那年已二十岁，北京已来往过两三次，是没有什么要紧的了。他踌躇了一会，终于决定还是自己送我去。我再三劝他不必去；他只说：“不要紧，他们去不好！”

我们过了江，进了车站。我买票，他忙着照看行李。行李太多了，得向脚夫行些小费才可过去。他便又忙着和他们讲价钱。我那时真是聪明过分，总觉他说话不大漂亮，非自己插嘴不可，但他终于讲定了价钱；就送我上车。他给我拣定了靠车门的一张椅子；我将他给我做的紫毛大衣铺好座位。他嘱我路上小心，夜里要警醒些，不要受凉。又嘱托茶房好好照应我。我心里暗笑他的迂；他们只认得钱，托他们只是白托！而且我这样大年纪的人，难道还不能料理自己么？我现在想想，我那时真是太聪明了。

我说道：“爸爸，你走吧。”他往车外看了看，说：“我买几个橘子去。你就在此地，不要走动。”我看那边月台的栅栏外有几个卖东西的等着顾客。走到那边月台，须穿过铁道，须跳下去又爬上去。父亲是一个胖子，走过去自然要费事些。我本来要去的，他不肯，只好让他去。我看见他戴着黑布小帽，穿着黑布大马褂，深青布棉袍，蹒跚地走到铁道边，慢慢探身下去，尚不大难。可是他穿过铁道，要爬上那边月台，就不容易了。他用两手攀着上面，两脚再向上缩；他肥胖的身子向左微倾，显出努力的样子。这时我看见他的背影，我的泪很快地流下来了。我赶紧拭干了泪。怕他看见，也怕别人看见。我再向外看时，他已抱了朱红的橘子往回走了。过铁道时，他先将橘子散放在地上，自己慢慢爬下，再抱起橘子走。到这边时，我赶紧去搀他。他和我走到车上，将橘子一股脑儿放在我的皮大衣上。于是扑扑衣上的泥土，心里很轻松似的。过一会儿说：“我走了，到那边来信！”我望着他走出去。他走了几步，回过头看见我，说：“进去吧，里边没人。”等他的背影混入来来往往的人里，再找不着了，我便进来坐下，我的眼泪又来了。

近几年来，父亲和我都是东奔西走，家中光景是一日不如一日。他少年出外谋生，独力支持，做了许多大事。哪知老境却如此颓唐！他触目伤怀，自然情不能自已。情郁于中，自然要发之于外；家庭琐屑便往往触他之怒。他待我渐渐不同往日。但最近两年不见，他终于忘却我的不好，只是惦记着我，惦记着我的儿子。我北来后，他写了一信给我，信中说道：“我身体平安，惟膀子疼痛厉害，举箸提笔，诸多不便，大约大去之期⒂不远矣。”我读到此处，在晶莹的泪光中，又看见那肥胖的、青布棉袍黑布马褂的背影。唉！我不知何时再能与他相见！

春天到了，西花厅的海棠花又盛开了。看花的主人已经走了，离开了我们，不再回来了。

你不是喜爱海棠花吗？解放初期，你偶然看到了这海棠花盛开的院落，就爱上了海棠花，也就爱上了这个院落，到这个盛开着海棠花的院落来居住。

你住了整整26年，我住的比你还长，到现在已经是38年了！

记得那年，你参加日内瓦会议，家里的海棠正在盛开，因为你不能看到那年的海棠盛开，我就特意剪一枝，托信使给你带到日内瓦。

遥想当年，我们之间鸿雁传书，越过海洋，从名城巴黎，到渤海之滨的天津。有一次，我突然接到你寄给我印有李卜克内西和卢森堡像的明信片，上面写着“希望我们两个人，将来也像他们两个人那样，一同上断头台。”因此，我们的爱情生活不是简单的，不是为爱情而爱情，我们的爱情是深长的，是永恒的，是根据我们的革命事业、我们的共同理想相爱的。

海棠花开了，你离开了它们，离开了我们，你不再回来，你到哪里去了呀？

你一定随着春天温暖的风，又踏着严寒冬天的雪，你经过春风的欢送和踏雪的足迹，已经深入到祖国的高山平原，也飘进了黄河长江，经过黄河长江的运移，你进入了无边无际的海洋。

I never thought that I understood her. She always seemed so far away from me. I loved her, of course. We shared mutual love from the day I was born. I came into this world with a bashed head and deformed features because of the hard labor my mother had gone through. Family members and friends wrinkled their noses at the disfigured baby I was. They all commented on how much I looked like a beat-up football player. But no, not her. Nana thought I was beautiful. Her eyes twinkled with splendor and happiness at the ugly baby in her arms. Her first granddaughter. Beautiful, she said.

Before final exams in my junior year of high school, she died. Seven years ago, her doctors diagnosed Nana with Alzheimer's disease. Seven years ago, our family became experts on this disease as, slowly, we lost her.

She always spoke in fragmented sentences. As the years passed, the words she spoke became fewer and fewer, until finally she said nothing at all. We were lucky to get one occasional word out of her. It was then our family knew she was near the end.

About a week or so before she died, she lost the abilities for her body to function at all, and the doctors decided to move her to a hospice. A hospice. Where those who entered would never come out.

I told my parents I wanted to see her. I had to see her. My uncontrollable curiosity had taken a step above my gut-wrenching fear.

My mother brought me to the hospice two days after my request. My grandfather and two of my aunts were there as well, but all hung back in the hallway as I entered Nana's room. She was sitting in a big, fluffy chair next to her bed, slouched over, eyes shut, mouth numbly hanging open. The morphine was keeping her asleep. My eyes darted around the room at the windows, the flowers, and the way Nana looked. I was struggling very hard to take it all in, knowing that this would be the last time I ever saw her alive.

I slowly sat down across from her. I took her left hand and held it in mine, brushing a stray lock of golden hair away from her face. I just sat and stared, motionless, in front of her, unable to feel anything. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I could not get over how awful she looked sitting there, helpless.

Then it happened. Her little hand wrapped around mine tighter and tighter. Her voice began what sounded like a soft howl. She seemed to be crying in pain. And then, she spoke.

"Jessica," Plain as day. My name. Mine. Out of 4 children, 2 son-in-laws, 1 daughter-in-law, and 6 grandchildren, she knew it was me.

At that moment, it was like someone was showing a family filmstrip in my head. I saw Nana at my baptizing. I saw her at my fourteen dance recitals. I saw her bringing me roses and beaming with pride. I saw her tap dancing on our kitchen floor. I saw her pointing at her own wrinkled cheeks and telling me that it was from her that I inherited my big dimples. I saw her playing games with us grandkids while the other adults ate Thanksgiving dinner. I saw her sitting with me in my living room at Christmas time admiring our brightly decorated tree.

I then looked at her as she was...and I cried.

I knew she would never see my final senior dance recital. I knew she would never see me cheer for another football game. I knew she would never sit with me and admire our Christmas tree again. I knew she would never see me go off to my senior prom. I knew she would never see me graduate high school or college or see me get married. And I knew she would never be there the day my first child was born. This made tear after tear roll down my face.

But above all, I cried because I finally knew how she had felt the day I had been born. She had looked through what she saw on the outside and looked to the inside and saw ... a life.

I slowly released her hand from mine and brushed away the tears staining her cheeks, and mine. I stood, leaned over, and kissed her.

"You look beautiful."

And with one long last look, I turned and left the hospice.

　　我以为我从来就不了解她。她仿佛离我很遥远。当然，我爱她。从我出生那天起我们就爱护彼此。因为母亲难产，我生下来便头部受伤，面貌丑陋。家人和朋友对我这个畸形婴儿不屑一顾，他们都评论说我看起来多么像一个蓬头垢面的足球运动员。但是，她没有。祖母认为我很漂亮。看着怀中丑陋的婴儿她的眼睛变得光彩夺目，幸福万分。这是她第一个孙女啊，真漂亮，她说。

　　在我高一期末考试之前，她去世了。七年前，她的医生就诊断出奶奶患了早老性痴呆症；七年前，我们家就成为这种疾病的专家，然而，逐渐地，我们还是失去了她。

　　她说话的时候总是断断续续。一年年过去了，她说的话也越来越少，直到最后一个字也说不出了。偶尔能听到她说出一个字我们就觉得运气很好了。那时我们家才意识到她的一生走到终点了。

　　她去世前一个星期，身体就完全不能自理了，医生们决定把她送到收容所。收容所。进到那里面的人没有活着出来的。

　　我告诉父母我想去看她。我必须见到她。我抑制不住的好奇心战胜了压抑勇气的恐惧。

　　在我请求两天之后妈妈带我去了收容所。祖父和两个姑姑也去了那里，但当我走进奶奶的房间里，他们都在走廊里止步了。祖母坐在一个靠近她床的松软的大椅子里，无精打采地坐着，闭着眼睛，嘴巴麻木地张开着。吗啡使她处于睡眠状态。我的眼神快速地移动，窗户、花卉以及祖母看人的方式上。我艰难地接受着这一切，心里明白这将是我最后一次见到祖母了。

　　我慢慢地在她对面坐下来，拿起她的左手，握在我的手心里，拂去她脸上一缕零散的金发。我就坐在她面前，一动不动地看着她，没有任何感觉。我张了张嘴，却什么也没有说。我无法接受她坐在那里的糟糕情形，那么无助。

　　接着，她的小手把我的手抓得越来越紧。她开始说话，听起来好似轻柔的呼叫。她好像要痛苦地哭起来。然后，她说话了：“杰西卡，”清晰明白。我的名字，是在叫我！在四个孩子、两个女婿、一个儿媳、六个孙子中，她认出是我了。

　　那一刻，就好像有人在我脑子里放映家庭电影一样。我看到祖母为我洗礼；我看到她出现在我十四岁那年的独舞表演上；我看到她满脸自豪地带给我玫瑰；我看到她在厨房的地板上跳踢踏舞；我看到她指着自己布满皱纹的脸颊告诉我说我的大酒窝就是从她那里继承的；我看到在其他大人都在吃感恩节晚餐时她在跟孙儿孙女们玩游戏。我看到在圣诞节时她和我坐在我的卧室里赞美我们装饰明亮的圣诞树。

　　现在我看着她，就像以前她看我一样……我哭了。

　　我知道她再也看不到我最后的毕业独舞表演了；我知道她再也看不到我为另一场足球赛欢呼了；我知道她再也不会和我坐在一起欣赏圣诞树了；我知道她再也不会去参加我的毕业舞会了；我知道她再也看不到我高中毕业、大学毕业，也看到我结婚了；我知道她再也看不到我第一个孩子出世了。想到此，我的眼泪不停地顺着脸颊流下来。

　　然而我之所以哭泣，主要是因为我终于明白我出生那天她的感受了。她仔细地看了外部更注意到了内部，她看到的是一个小生命。

　　我慢慢地放开了她的手，擦了擦弄脏她脸颊以及我的脸颊的泪水。然后我站起来，弯下身子亲了亲她。

　　“你看起来真漂亮。”

　　最后久久地凝视了她一眼，我转身离开了收容所。