夢回兒時快樂園

“記得當時年紀小，你愛談天我愛笑。并肩坐在桃樹下，風在樹梢鳥在叫，不知怎么睡著了，夢里花落知多少……”年少時的快樂便是這樣純粹直接、簡單明了。只是，時間流逝太快，快樂不易保存，等我們漸漸懂得生活的辛苦與悲傷，才發現原來兒時那毫無羈絆的快樂一旦失去，便難以喚回。可對于快樂的想念與渴望又何曾舍棄?于是，童年記憶便如桃樹下的落花，一次次在夢中閃回……

The happiness of children is existential， not psychological. Adults forget that， probably because of envy.

As a small child I was wildly， unconditionally happy. By that I don’t mean that I was well adjusted or that I was raised according to sound principles of mental hygiene1). I mean that all my receptors were attuned2) to the world， that I felt things freshly and keenly， that my mind received impressions so powerfully that memories from that period stay true in my mind， like colored stones seen through water.

I spent my early years in Williamstown， Massachusetts. For me and my younger brother Andy， the Williams College campus was a kind of Eden， and we thrived in a condition of benign3) neglect. My father was a professor of economics. My mother was a faculty wife， a wit and a fey4) charmer. My parents were ambitious people， and it never occurred to either of them to worry about Andy and me as we wandered around that gentle， fostering town ringed by the shadowy Berkshires5). The elms6) stood guard， the local dogs greeted us， and even the telephone operators knew us by name. We traipsed7) freely through backyards and gardens， raced around the quadrangles of the Williams campus on our bikes， jousting with sticks. We skittered through the cool， dim stacks of the college library， our German Shepherd James in tow8).

I was happy because I felt myself to be safe and free， but also because I managed to maintain three happy， if unsubstantiated9) and mutually contradictory， beliefs. I believed in fairies， God and history. I was encouraged in the first belief by my mother. My agnostic10) parents were embarrassed by the second. The third I absorbed by osmosis11). Growing up on a college campus， surrounded by books and architecture that made reference to a vague and glorious history， I came to assume that my parents were the recipients of all the wisdom of the past. I actually believed—though I couldn’t have expressed the thought then—that I was growing up in an Arcadia12) at the end of time.

When I turned 7 and collided with school， I came to know certain sorrows. Before that time， I had been a charming， lively child， a promising early reader， my mother’s favorite. After that time， I was a shamefaced fatty， an academic failure， a social pariah13)， a disappointment to my parents. And yet， even at my worst， I was not unhappy. I was often miserable， certainly， but misery is a temporary condition. I shook it off by wandering into the woods， where I felt free. After a few minutes of pacing and mumbling， I pushed the threatening world of school to the margins of my mind， and soon enough I was happy once again. I managed to keep much of my happiness for years after I fell from the grace of my early condition. Feelings of gladness and sadness continued to run through me in discrete layers， like currents in a river. I was 12 before I reached the stage when feelings become soluble14) in mood. Now I’m getting old， and what happiness I enjoy is the adult variety， hard won and mixed with ambivalence15). Still， whenever I want to， I can revisit my childhood happiness. When I sit idly at my desk or lie in bed waiting for sleep， I steal back to Williamstown. My earliest memories are simple still pictures—a glimpse of the back of a white clapboard garage， for example， half obscured by a holly bush. They carry the air of that time and place as if the Williamstown of my childhood had been lying under an unbroken seal for 50 years. What I feel when I summon up those images is my aboriginal16) happiness， magically retrieved.

It’s true that this happiness was founded on a childish misunderstanding of reality. Nevertheless， I was happy， and my happiness was real. Only in stories can conflict and sadness be registered and recorded， and when I was small， my life had not yet become one. It was not made of incidents， which are susceptible17) to being linked in a causal chain. Instead， it was a succession of moments of radiant apprehension.

The Williamstown in my mind is absolutely intact and eerily18) accessible， but only to me. The purer the happiness， the less communicable it is. I can’t tell a picture. (Describing isn’t telling.) What I can tell is a story， and the story I tell over and over is the one everyone knows—the story about how happiness is lost.

兒童的快樂是實實在在的一種存在，而非心理層面的一種感受。而大人們很可能出于妒忌，把這茬兒都給忘了。

小時候，我快樂得很，那是一種毫無拘束、不講條件的快樂。這可不表示我受過很好的調教，或者在成長的過程中飽受心智健康方面金科玉律的熏陶。我的意思是，我身上所有的感官都和這個世界非常協調;我對事物的認知鮮明且敏銳;我對發生過的事情總是印象深刻，以至于那個階段的記憶在我腦海中真切無比，如水里色彩斑斕的石塊，顆顆清晰可辨。

我早年的歲月是在馬薩諸塞州的威廉斯敦度過的。對我和弟弟安迪來說，威廉斯大學的校園就像伊甸園一樣，我們在放任的關愛下茁壯成長。我的父親是經濟學教授，母親是教授夫人——一位睿智而富有魔法般魅力的女性。父母都是志向遠大的人，當安迪和我在小鎮內四處閑逛時，他們從未想過要為我們擔心。威廉斯敦民風溫婉，陶冶性情，小鎮四周被林木蔥蘢的伯克希爾丘陵包圍。聳立的榆樹像屏障一樣守護著我們，當地人家飼養的犬只歡迎著我們，就連電話接線工也叫得出我們的名字。我們隨意走過人家的后園和花圃;騎著自行車、揮舞著樹枝在大學校園的四方廣場飛馳;從大學圖書館色調幽冷、光線暗淡的書架前掠過，后面跟著德國牧羊犬詹姆斯。

我快樂，是因為感到自己是安全和自由的，也因為我一直堅守著三個未必真實也可能互相矛盾的快樂信念:我相信精靈，相信上帝，相信歷史。第一個信念是母親灌輸給我的。而第二個信念則讓我那持不可知論的父母有點尷尬了。第三個信念是我在潛移默化中一點一滴建立起來的。在大學校園里成長，周圍全是能讓你聯想到模糊而輝煌的歷史的書和建筑物，這些漸漸讓我覺得父母是過去一切智慧的受惠者。事實上，我甚至相信——盡管我那時候還不知道怎么表達這種想法——自己是生活在時間盡頭的世外桃源里。

我七歲開始上學，因學校而起的“摩擦”才讓我開始懂得點兒不開心。上學之前，我一直是個人見人愛、活潑開朗的孩子，潛力無窮的早期讀者，母親的寵兒。而上學之后，我變成了抬不起頭的小胖妞，學業的失敗者，社交生活的棄兒，招父母不滿的孩子。但即便如此，在我最糟糕的時刻，我也并沒有覺得不快樂。我確實常常垂頭喪氣，不過，那些情形都只是暫時的。當我走進樹林，感受到自由，就把它拋到腦后了。我在那里閑逛啊，嘟囔啊，只消幾分鐘，就把學校那充滿壓力的世界拋到九霄云外，很快就重新快樂起來。童年的我頗受上天眷顧，“跌入”現實的幾年里，我也都保留著大部分的快樂。歡喜與哀愁，就像河里的暗流，一層一層地從我身體中流淌過。到了12歲，不同的感受才開始溶入我的情緒中。如今我年歲大了，這時我所感受到的快樂是成年人的各種快樂，不易得到，且悲喜交加。盡管這樣，不論何時，只要我愿意，我會再去探訪兒時的快樂。閑坐書桌前，或躺在床上等待入夢之際，我會悄悄回到威廉斯敦。我早年的回憶就像簡單的靜照——就像白色車庫背后護墻上的模糊剪影，半掩映在冬青樹下。那上面留有當時當地空氣的味道，好像我童年時的威廉斯敦被封存了50年，未曾遭到任何破壞。一旦喚醒這些影像，我就又感受到了那最初的本真的快樂——它們神奇地被重新喚回。

不錯，這種快樂都建立在對現實世界孩子氣般的誤解上。然而，那時的我是快樂的，而那種快樂是實實在在的。只有小說才會記錄下沖突和哀愁，而在我小的時候，生活還未變成小說，里面沒有可以隨易串連起來的各種意外事故，有的只是一連串明明白白、閃閃發光的時刻。

在我心中，威廉斯敦絕對地完整無缺，且不可思議地觸手可及，不過只是對我而言。快樂越是純凈，就越是難以言傳。這就像我無法講述一幅圖畫(描述是另一回事)。我能講述的只是一個故事，而我一遍又一遍講述的故事是大家都熟知的——關于快樂是如何遺失的故事。