小小鳥

如果我是一位收藏家，只能收藏一件東西，那我會選擇——童心！有些東西，只有當你已經失去了，你才會意識到它的存在，就像清新的空氣，就像我們頭頂那片曾經一塵不染的藍天……即使生活是殘酷的，但記憶所及，我們仍舊擁有那些寶貴的純真年代。

Rita smoothed suntan lotion onto her shoulders as she watched her niece sitting cross-legged in the sand， poking1 a shell fragment with someone’s discarded straw.

“Why isn’t she playing with the other children?” she asked her sister.

“She’d rather sit and mope2.”

“Why?”

Mae picked up a thermos3， unscrewed the cap and poured iced coffee into a paper cup.

“Because I’m heartless. Did you put sugar in here?”

Days earlier， Cynthia squatted4 to look at a tiny creature on the sidewalk. It was a baby bird， rubbery pink like a pencil eraser， jerking its head back and forth on a neck so thin it made her chest ache. She looked up at the branches overhead， wondering if there was a nest it had fallen from.

Her mother had told her you could get a disease from touching birds. Cynthia examined her hands， considering. Then she stretched out the bottom of her tee-shirt and used a twig to gently roll the delicate thing onto it. Cradling it with one hand beneath the fabric5， she stood， walked into the house and marched softly upstairs to her bedroom.

Still holding the weightless bird in her shirt’s hammock6， Cynthia pulled an empty shoebox from her closet and lined it with a bandana7 from her dresser drawer. Slowly， she transferred her foundling8 to its new home.

“Mom?” Cynthia entered the kitchen timidly， holding the box in front of her like a sacrament9.

“Did you make your bed?”

“I found a baby bird. On the sidewalk.”

Her mother turned to face her， wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Good lord，”she said， peering into the box.

“I rescued it.”

The bird lifted its head in the direction of Cynthia’s mother， and she stepped back.

“It can’t fly，” the child said.

Her mother waved away the comment， as if it was too obvious to respond to. “It can’t survive without its mother. It’s too young.”

“I’ll feed it.”

“Use what?”

“I don’t no. Can I call a vet and ask?”

“Cynthia——”

“Please?”

She took the box into bed with her that night， as the vet had explained that the bird would need to be fed every four hours， round-the-clock. Tucked into the corner was an eyedropper bottle， washed clean and filled with the formula he had told her how to make using milk， water， sugar and a driblet10 of scotch11. Before she went to sleep， Cynthia whistled the best she could and the tiny beak opened. As she squeezed in one-two drops， the frail neck moved wildly as it did before， making her tummy12 flutter again， with worry. She clicked off the light and closed her eyes， willing herself to wake up at least once during the night to care for her charge.

After the second night had passed， Cynthia grew more confident that her foundling would flourish. She held the box on her lap as she sat on the swing in her backyard， whispering to the bird that it would one day grow feathers and fly.

Her mother appeared at the back door.

“We’re going to the beach with Aunt Rita，” she said.

“Today?”

“Tut on your bathing suit. The orange.”

“I’m taking the bird.”

Her mother folded her arms. “Absolutely not.”

“It has to be fed every four hours， round-the-clock.”

“Sabine will feed it，” her mother said， referring to the lady who came once a week to clean their house.

“She won’t! She’ll kill it!”

The screendoor slammed as her mother went back into the house.

Cynthia patted13 an indentation14 in the sand and began to line it with shards15 of driftwood， snaggles of seaweed and delicate shell fragments.

“What are you making?” her aunt Rita asked.

“A nest.”

Rita turned to her sister， who shrugged.

“She’s playing mama bird，” Mae said. “She found a sickly little chick and thinks she can nurse it back to health.”

Rita smiled and lowered the back of her lounge chair. “Reminds me of someone else at that age.”

“What are you talking about?” Mae dabbed16 sunblock on her nose.

“Please.”

When they got home from the beach， Cynthia bolted17 out of the car， leaving her sandy thongs18 on the stoop19， and rushed into the kitchen where she had left the bird with strict instructions for Sabine.

By the time her mother got in the door， the girl was hunched20 over the box， her face contorted21 and red. Her mother looked inside at the small， still creature and nudged22 it with her fingernail. It was stiff. Cynthia let out a wail and ran into the backyard with her dead treasure.

She sat on the swing and sobbed23 over the shoebox. Her mother stood at the screendoor for a long time. Finally， she approached， lowering herself into the swing next to Cynthia’s.

“It was too young，” she said softly， the swing creaking24 as she moved back and forth. “It wasn’t，” the child seethed25. “Why couldn’t you let me take it with us?”

Mae reached into the box and picked up the tiny carcass26， holding it in her two hands. Cynthia sniffed hard and looked at her mother， whose knees were bent， her sandy toes curled beneath her.

“Why couldn’t you?” Cynthia insisted.

Her mother stood and placed the tiny thing back into the box and set it on the ground. Then she wiped her daughter’s tears with the same hands that held the dead bird.

“You killed it，” Cynthia said， but her voice was soft. Already， something in her mother’s presence diminished the edges of her fury.

Cynthia rested her head against her mother’s chest. “You should have let me take it with us.”

Her mother absently stroked the back of her head， as if she was trying to remember something.

麗塔一邊往肩上抹著防曬油，一邊看著她的外甥女。小姑娘盤腿坐在沙灘上，正用別人扔掉的吸管撥弄著一個貝殼殘片。

“她為什么不和別的小孩一起玩呢？”麗塔問她的妹妹。

“她情愿坐在那里生悶氣。”

“怎么了？”

梅拿起保溫瓶，旋開蓋子把冰咖啡倒進紙杯里。

“因為我太無情了。你這里加糖了嗎？”

幾天前，辛西婭在人行道上發現了一只小動物，便蹲下來看。這只粉嫩的雛鳥軟得跟橡皮一樣，它的腦袋在細細的脖子上來回地抽搐著，令她感到心痛。她抬頭望了望頭頂上的樹枝，看有沒有鳥窩，也許它是從那里跌下來的。

她媽媽曾經跟她說過，碰過鳥兒可能會得病。辛西婭仔細地看了看雙手，琢磨了一會兒。然后她把T恤下擺拉長，用一根小樹枝輕輕把這個弱小的東西撥了上來。她用一只手隔著衣服兜住它，站了起來。她走到屋子里，輕輕地跨上樓梯，進了自己的臥室。

辛西婭依然用T恤兜著這只輕若無物的小鳥，從壁櫥里拽出一只空鞋盒，用矮柜抽屜里找到的頭巾墊好，接著慢慢地把這只棄鳥放進了它的新家。

“媽媽？”辛西婭提心吊膽地走進廚房。她把鞋盒捧在胸前，像捧著很神圣的東西一樣。

“你鋪好床了嗎？”

“我發現了一只雛鳥。在人行道上發現的。”

她媽媽轉過身來，把手在干毛布上擦了擦。“天哪！”她瞇起眼睛朝盒子里看了一眼，說道。

“我救了它的命。”

小鳥朝辛西婭的媽媽抬起了頭，媽媽往后退了兩步。

“她飛不起來的。” 辛西婭說。

媽媽擺了擺手，答案似乎不言自明。“沒有自己的媽媽它是活不下去的，它太小了。”

“我來喂它。”

“用什么喂？”

“不知道。我可以打電話問獸醫嗎？”

“辛西婭——”

“求您了？”

那天晚上辛西婭把盒子帶上了床，因為獸醫講過，要不間斷地每隔四小時喂小鳥一次。她把眼藥水瓶子洗干凈，倒進用牛奶、水、糖和少量威士忌調配出來的配方奶，這是獸醫教她的。然后，她把瓶子塞在床角。臨睡前，辛西婭拼命地吹口哨，鳥兒終于張開了小嘴。她滴進去一兩滴，小鳥脆弱的脖子像開始一樣猛烈地晃動起來，辛西婭的心又一緊，焦灼不安起來。

她關了燈，閉上雙眼，希望自己夜里至少能醒來一次，照看這只小鳥。

兩個晚上過去了，辛西婭更加確信這只棄鳥會恢復健康。她坐在后院的秋千上，把盒子放在膝上，輕輕地對小鳥說，總有一天它會長出羽毛飛起來的。

她媽媽來到了后門口。

“我們要和麗塔姨媽一起去海灘。”媽媽說。

“今天嗎？”

“把泳衣換上，橙色的那件。”

“我要帶小鳥去。”

媽媽雙手交叉在胸前說，“絕對不行。”

“它每隔四小時就要喂一次呀。”

“薩班會喂它的，”媽媽說的是那個每周來打掃一次房子的女人。

“她不會喂的！她會弄死它的！”

媽媽回到屋子里，把紗門砰地一聲帶上。

辛西婭在沙地里拓出一個凹槽，然后鋪上浮木碎片、支離的海草和小巧的貝殼殘片。

“你在做什么？”麗塔姨媽問。

“鳥窩。”

麗塔掉頭看她妹妹，后者聳了聳肩。

“她是在扮鳥媽媽呢，”梅說，“她發現了一只病懨懨的小鳥，以為自己可以照料它，讓它恢復健康。”

麗塔笑了笑，把躺椅背放低，“這讓我想起某個人像她這么大時的樣子。”

“你在說什么呀？”梅又在鼻子上抹了點防曬油。

“別裝了。”

她們從海灘一回到家，辛西婭就從車上沖了出來，把沙灘拖鞋甩在門廊邊，趕到了廚房里，她是在這把小鳥托付給薩班，并且細細叮囑過的。

她媽媽進門時，辛西婭已俯在盒子上方，紅通通的小臉都變形了。媽媽看見盒子里的那只小東西一動不動，便用指甲輕輕碰了碰它。小鳥已經僵硬了。辛西婭放聲大哭，帶著心愛的死鳥跑進了后院。

她坐在秋千上對著盒子抽泣。媽媽在紗門邊站了好一會兒。最終，她走過來，坐到辛西婭旁邊的秋千上。

“它太小了。”她柔聲說。秋千隨著她來回擺動發出吱吱地聲音。

“它不小，” 辛西婭壓住怒氣，“你為什么不讓我帶它一起去？”

梅把手伸進盒子拾起這具小尸體，用兩手捧住。辛西婭拼命止住哭，看著她媽媽。媽媽的膝蓋彎著，腳尖向下繃著。

“你為什么不讓？”辛西婭不依不饒。

媽媽站起來，把小鳥放回盒子里，再把盒子放在地上，然后用捧過死鳥的手擦去女兒的淚珠。

“是你讓它死的。”辛西婭說，聲音卻低了下來。媽媽陪在身旁，這或多或少已經減輕了她的憤怒。

辛西婭把頭靠在媽媽胸前，“你應該讓我帶上它的。”

媽媽出神地撫摸著女兒的后腦勺，似乎想起了什么。

注釋

1.poke v.撥開

2.mope v.悶悶不樂

3.thermos n.熱水瓶

4.squat v. 蹲伏

5.fabric n.織物，布

6.hammock n.吊床

7.bandana n.花色絲質大手帕

8.foundling n.棄兒

9.sacrament n.【基督教】圣禮

10.driblet n.少量，微量

11.scotch n.威士忌

12.tummy n.胃

13.pat v.輕拍

14.indentation n.缺口，印凹痕

15.shard n. 碎片

16.dab v.輕敷，涂

17.bolt v.逃跑

18.thong n.皮帶

19.stoop n.彎腰，屈背

20.hunch v.弓起背部

21.contorted adj.扭曲的

22.nudge n.用肘輕推

23.sob v.哭訴

24.creak v. 吱吱作響

25.seethe v.沸騰

26.carcass n.畜體