卡波特的時光匣子

杜魯門·卡波特(Truman Capote， 1924～1984)出生于美國南方城市新奧爾良。他自幼父母離異，17歲便高中輟學，在《紐約客》雜志打零工。1946年，卡波特憑借短篇小說《米利亞姆》(Miriam)獲得了歐·亨利小說獎，成為美國文壇新秀。1948年，他出版了第一部長篇小說《其他的聲音，其他的房間》(Other Voices， Other Rooms)，該小說旋即登上了《紐約時報》暢銷書榜單。1958年，卡波特發表了《蒂凡尼的早餐》(Breakfast at Tiffany’s)，該小說于1961年被好萊塢改編成電影，由著名影星奧黛麗·赫本出演，至今風靡世界，歷久不衰。1966年，卡波特完成了小說《冷血》(In Cold Blood)，這部小說具有里程碑意義，開創了美國紀實小說(nonfiction novel)的先河。

Excerpts

“Buddy， are you awake!” It is my friend2)， calling from her room， which is next to mine; and an instant later she is sitting on my bed holding a candle. “Well， I can’t sleep a hoot3)，” she declares. “My mind’s jumping like a jack rabbit4). Buddy， do you think Mrs. Roosevelt will serve our cake at dinner?” We huddle in the bed， and she squeezes my hand I-love-you. “Seems like your hand used to be so much smaller. I guess I hate to see you grow up. When you’re grown up， will we still be friends?” I say always. “But I feel so bad， Buddy. I wanted so bad to give you a bike. I tried to sell my cameo5) Papa gave me. Buddy—” she hesitates， as though embarrassed， “I made you another kite.” Then I confess that I made her one， too; and we laugh. The candle burns too short to hold. Out it goes， exposing the starlight， the stars spinning at the window like a visible caroling that slowly， slowly daybreak silences. Possibly we doze; but the beginnings of dawn splash us like cold water: we’re up， wide-eyed and wandering while we wait for others to waken. Quite deliberately my friend drops a kettle on the kitchen floor. I tap-dance in front of closed doors. One by one the household emerges， looking as though they’d like to kill us both; but it’s Christmas， so they can’t. First， a gorgeous breakfast: just everything you can imagine—from flapjacks6) and fried squirrel to hominy grits7) and honey-in-the-comb8). Which puts everyone in a good humor except my friend and me. Frankly， we’re so impatient to get at9) the presents we can’t eat a mouthful.

Well， I’m disappointed. Who wouldn’t be? With socks， a Sunday school shirt， some handkerchiefs， a hand-me-down10) sweater， and a year’s subscription to a religious magazine for children. The Little Shepherd. It makes me boil. It really does.

My friend has a better haul11). A sack of satsumas12)， that’s her best present. She is proudest， however， of a white wool shawl13) knitted by her married sister. But she says her favorite gift is the kite I built her. And it is very beautiful; though not as beautiful as the one she made me， which is blue and scattered with gold and green Good Conduct14) stars; moreover， my name is painted on it， “Buddy”.

“Buddy， the wind is blowing.”

The wind is blowing， and nothing will do till we’ve run to a pasture below the house where Queenie15) has scooted16) to bury her bone (and where， a winter hence， Queenie will be buried， too). There， plunging through the healthy waist-high grass， we unreel our kites， feel them twitching at the string like sky fish as they swim into the wind. Satisfied， sun-warmed， we sprawl in the grass and peel satsumas and watch our kites cavort17). Soon I forget the socks and hand-me-down sweater. I’m as happy as if we’d already won the fifty-thousand-dollar Grand Prize in that coffee-naming contest…

This is our last Christmas together.

Life separates us. Those who Know Best decide that I belong in a military school. And so follows a miserable succession of bugle18)-blowing prisons， grim reveille19)-ridden summer camps. I have a new home too. But it doesn’t count. Home is where my friend is， and there I never go.

And there she remains， puttering around the kitchen. Alone with Queenie. Then alone. (“Buddy dear，” she writes in her wild hard-to-read script， “yesterday Jim Macy’s horse kicked Queenie bad. Be thankful she didn’t feel much. I wrapped her in a Fine Linen sheet and rode her in the buggy down to Simpson’s pasture where she can be with all her Bones....”). For a few Novembers she continues to bake her fruitcakes single-handed; not as many， but some: and， of course， she always sends me “the best of the batch”. Also， in every letter she encloses a dime wadded in toilet paper: “See a picture show and write me the story.” But gradually in her letters she tends to confuse me with her other friend， the Buddy who died in the 1880’s; more and more， thirteenths are not the only days she stays in bed: a morning arrives in November， a leafless birdless coming of winter morning， when she cannot rouse herself to exclaim: “Oh my， it’s fruitcake weather! ”

And when that happens， I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received， severing20) from me an irreplaceable part of myself， letting it loose like a kite on a broken string. That is why， walking across a school campus on this particular December morning， I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see， rather like hearts， a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.

1.A Christmas Memory:《圣誕憶舊集》，美國作家杜魯門·卡波特回憶童年往事的短篇故事集，包括《一個圣誕節的回憶》(A Christmas Memory)、《一個圣誕節》(One Christmas)、《感恩節來客》(The Thanksgiving Visitor)三個故事。主人公巴迪和其遠親蘇柯·佛爾克小姐的真摯友情貫穿三個故事始終。本文節選和賞析的是第一個短篇故事《一個圣誕節的回憶》。

2.my friend:小說中指主人公的表親蘇柯·佛爾克小姐

3.hoot [hu:t] n.〈口〉(通常用于否定句)最少量，一絲一毫

4.jack rabbit:(北美洲產的)長腿大野兔

5.cameo [5kAmIEu] n. 刻有浮雕的寶石(或玉石)

6.flapjack [5flApdVAk] n. 大薄煎餅

7.hominy grits:玉米粗粉

8.comb [kEum] n. 蜂巢

9.get at:夠得著，觸及，得到

10.hand-me-down:別人用過(或丟棄)的，舊的;現成而廉價質次的

11.haul [hC:l] n.〈口〉一次獲得的數量

12.satsuma [5sAtsumE] n. 無核小蜜橘

13.shawl [FC:l] n. 披肩，圍巾

14.Good Conduct:指美軍的品德優良獎章(Good Conduct Medal)，獎章上通常有星星點綴。

15.Queenie:奎尼，小說中蘇柯小姐養的一只小狗

16.scoot [sku:t] vi. 溜走，迅速跑開

17.cavort [kE5vC:t] vi. 騰躍

18.bugle [5bju:^l] n. 軍號

19.reveille [rI5vAlI] n. 起床號

20.sever [5sevE(r)] v. 切斷

作品賞析

杜魯門·卡波特是誰?在1980年的訪談錄中，卡波特寫道:“我是個酒鬼，我是個癮君子，我是個同性戀，我是個天才。”這回答，帶著卡波特一貫語不驚人死不休式的狂妄，不過，他確實擁有狂妄的資本:弱冠之年剛過，他便已是美國短篇小說最為重要的獎項“歐·亨利獎”的得主;《紐約時報》一篇三百余字的案件新聞稿，卻能激發出他的靈感，促使他追蹤發生在得克薩斯州的滅門血案，完成了小說《冷血》，由此奠定了美國紀實小說的新傳統。同時，這回答也透露出了卡波特的另類。卡波特的確是個怪胎:他熱衷名利，生怕被人遺忘，只要能站在世人矚目的聚光燈下，自毀形象也在所不惜;他聰明機敏，愛逞口舌之利，為自己樹下了無數敵人;他衣著浮華，舉止怪異，到了晚年，依舊做作地用少年才有的尖細嗓音說話;他嗑藥、酗酒、夜夜笙歌，近乎自虐地浪費生命。1984年，他死于酗酒所引發的系列并發癥。

無論是用攝像機般冷靜的筆法在《冷血》中細描謀殺案的卡波特，還是在社交界另類出位、換來狼藉聲名的卡波特，似乎都和“純真”這個詞毫不相干。然而，就是這個卡波特，塑造出了一個水晶心竅的兒童形象——巴迪。

巴迪是一個不滿十歲的小男孩，他是卡波特的短篇小說《一個圣誕節的回憶》(A Christmas Memory)的主人公。小說中，巴迪的父母離異，他被母親寄養在阿拉巴馬州的親戚家，和遠親蘇柯·佛爾克小姐結為莫逆。蘇柯是個未婚的老小姐。她身材嬌小，微駝著背，黃褐色的眼睛帶著驚怯的神色，雖已滿頭白發，行為和心靈卻純凈得一如孩童。時逢美國大蕭條時代，阿拉巴馬的物質生活十分匱乏，一老一小結伴，卻將清苦的日子過得韻味悠然:兩個人同往果園撿無人要的山核桃，回到家里烘焙蛋糕，再將香噴噴的蛋糕送給曾經偶遇并對他們表示過善意的人們;兩個人一起偷喝剩在瓶底的威士忌，喝完后帶著微醺唱歌、舞蹈，說些快樂的瘋話，咯咯地傻笑成一團。圣誕節來了，他們到山林里伐來圣誕樹，在它上面綴滿了親手繪制的飾品。他們還為彼此準備了禮物——仿佛心有靈犀，他們都選擇了扎制風箏。圣誕節的那一天，草坪上刮起了風。他們心滿意足地沐浴著和煦的陽光，吃著蜜橘，看著風箏在天上歡躍(Satisfied， sun-warmed， we sprawl in the grass and peel satsumas and watch our kites cavort.)——在阿拉巴馬鄉間空曠的藍天，兩個風箏系著兩顆飛舞著結伴而行的寂寞靈魂。本文節選部分描述的就是兩人一起過圣誕節的情景。

《一個圣誕節的回憶》是一篇散發著淡淡的溫暖與憂傷的作品。溫暖來自于巴迪和蘇柯小姐間的忘年友情;而憂傷，來自于隨后的分離——巴迪被母親接回了紐約，幾年后，蘇柯小姐便病逝了。《一個圣誕節的回憶》是卡波特最為鐘愛的作品。小說創造出一份凝結在喧囂現代世界以外的純凈的心靈之域，而小說中的兩位主人公巴迪和蘇柯小姐，則脫胎于現實。巴迪是卡波特的自喻。蘇柯小姐是卡波特在阿拉巴馬生活時，對他表現出了真誠關心的同名表親。卡波特的童年充滿了創痛的記憶。野心勃勃、美麗嬌俏的母親嫁給了英俊卻缺乏責任心的父親。卡波特在父母無休止的爭吵和相互詆毀聲中長大。當他七歲時，父母終于離婚。離異后的父母各自急于開始新的生活，卡波特被他們視為舊生活留下的負累。為此，擁有監護權的母親將他寄養在阿拉巴馬的老家，相當長的時間對他不聞不問。卡波特不無苦澀地將這段時光描述為被遺棄的時光。寄人籬下的生活是難熬的，尤其是大多數親戚都冷漠而勢利，只有蘇柯小姐對卡波特表示出了特別的善意，為此，卡波特一生都念念不忘。

《一個圣誕節的回憶》發表于1958年。當時的卡波特已經功成名就，是紐約社交界的紅人。然而，在紙醉金迷的生活中，卡波特依然眷戀著在阿拉巴馬鄉間和蘇柯小姐放風箏的悠游時光。這種眷戀一直持續到他生命的盡頭。1984年，在生命彌留之際，卡波特留下的遺言是:“是我，我是巴迪。”這是他對已在天堂的蘇柯小姐的喃喃絮語。《一個圣誕節的回憶》是卡波特的時光匣子，它收錄了他和蘇柯小姐最后一次一起度過的那個圣誕。他眷戀這時光匣子透出的溫暖，用它來抵抗母親的自殺、世人的詆毀等余生的寒冷。世人看卡波特，往往記得他的少年早熟、中年盛名、晚年自毀。當我們讀過卡波特的圣誕故事，當我們再問出這個問題:“誰是卡波特?”答案或許可以再添上一項——面對世界擺出一副狂妄面孔的卡波特，內心隱藏著一個小巴迪，在渴望著愛，向每一個孤單的風箏追問同伴。