Cherry Blossoms櫻花

【導讀】

菲利普·洛帕特（1943— ），美國人文與科學院院士（Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences）、電影評論家、散文家、小說家、詩人、教師，生于美國紐約州紐約布魯克林區，作品曾獲多項大獎。

五月的櫻花繁花似錦，但花期短暫;落英繽紛，免不了被踐踏的命運。埃米莉是“我”最好的柏拉圖式朋友。她有主見，引“我”保持住一個正常人的常態。她精準細致地安排賞花出游，“我”覺得她也挺招人愛。“為什么我倆不結婚呢？”“我”每年一問，卻又折服于埃米莉“我倆之間吸引力不夠”的坦誠。“我”有典型的“自殺式單身者”的特點：不喜社交，對各類“儀式”缺乏耐心，出游不久即覺膩煩。而“我”對埃米莉的心動，仿若每年盛開一次的櫻花，短暫的驚艷之后便煙消云散。這樣的“我”能培養出愛情，能組建上家庭嗎？

For two weeks in May （or sometimes the last week in April and the first in May）， the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. They grow in nearby Central Park as well as in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens， but for some reason my friend Emily decides that the ones in Brooklyn are more “representative.” So after much consulting of schedule books， we set out on Saturday afternoon， May 9， to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens.

Emily is my best platonic friend.

Emily’s spies in Brooklyn have assured her that the cherry blossoms are at their peak. It seems farfetched to me that one day more or less can matter so much; and yet， as Japanese art classically tells us， cherry blossoms are indeed that short-lived.

I am feeling very Japanese as I walk up the broad garden lane to the aisle of cherry blossoms. We have so few rituals any more—especially around Nature—that it would be nice to do this every year. I am thinking this way because I am already afraid of getting bored. So I tell myself let’s make this an annual excursion.

I am thinking how most rituals are family-bred： repetitions of holidays and habits nurtured in the bosom of domestic life. Single people， like Emily and me， have to be more inventive in our development of rituals. For us there are no tooth fairies， no half-birthdays， no bringing the children to Grandma. Living quite alone， my temptation is to view myself as a bizarre romantic monster outside the human community. Emily， with her surer grasp of custom and propriety， leads me gently by the hand to that most buried of， normality.

The long line of cherry trees on either side sends swirls of petals across the avenue in the wind. The trees are so weighted with cherry blossoms， poor things， that their limbs seem to sag from the burden of pink. Emily is of the opinion that last week they must have been perfect—this week they are a little over-ripe.

On the ground， scattered cherry blossoms pile up thick and wasted and bruised， destined to be trampled underfoot.

It’s too cold to sit for long on the grass. The sky is overcast， threatening rain.

Emily marches us away from this melancholy vista and over to the tulip beds. A woman of decision， she has a constant map in her head of where to go next， what is the best way to come upon any terrain. This time she finds us a spectacular double row of tulips， set almost too self-consciously on display， like a Cézanne exhibition. I like the ones that are pale yellow outside and dark yellow inside. Emily considers the insides of tulips very sexy. She used to be a photographer. We both agree that the black tulips are also wonderful： they’re not really black at all but a deep purplish-brown， thin and wrinkled as antique velvet. “Texas Flames” are white with orange tongues of fire streaking the petals.

I’m getting bored. I want to go home.

We stop in the commissary to buy notepaper with lilac sprigs. As we leave the park I keep seeing beautiful bushes with different-colored flowers， and I ask Emily what they are， and it is always the same answer. “Azaleas.”

On the way home in her Volkswagen， Emily and I are talking as usual about the difficulty of finding anyone with a set of quirks and appetites to match our prickly personalities.

“Why don’t we get married？” I ask.

Emily laughs： “You say that once a year.”

“Well， why don’t we？”

“Because you’re not attracted to me.”

I sit back in the seat， breath taken away1 by her honesty. At the same time I remember how I had kissed her in greeting a few hours before and how adorable she looked. “That’s not true. Sometimes I’ve very attracted to you.”

“But not enough，” she says with good-natured dismissiveness.

We drive on in silence. I think： Keep your mouth shut， she’s right， it’s not enough. She’s saved you from an awful scrape2.

Finally， Emily says： “You’re not the only who thinks that.”

“Thinks what？”

“That we two should get married. My sister Dora says it all the time.”

5月里有兩周（有時是4月最后一周加5月第一周）櫻花盛開。附近的中央公園和布魯克林植物園都種了櫻花，但出于某種原因，朋友埃米莉堅決認為布魯克林的更具“代表性”。因此，多次查詢日程簿之后，我們于5月9日周六下午出發前往布魯克林植物園。

埃米莉是我最好的柏拉圖式朋友。

埃米莉在布魯克林的眼線向她保證櫻花正是燦爛時。對我而言，這么糾結于一兩天的時間似乎有點兒過了;然而，日本傳統藝術告訴我們，櫻花花期確實很短。

沿著園里寬闊的小路走向櫻花道時，我感受到濃濃的日本風情。我們的儀式已經很少了——尤其是關于大自然的——要是每年都這么來一次也是不錯的。我這么想是因為我已經開始擔心自己會覺得無聊。于是我告訴自己，就把這當作每年一次的遠足吧。

我想著大多數儀式是如何在家庭里養成的：周而復始的假日、家庭生活懷抱中培養起來的習慣。單身狗，如埃米莉和我，不得不在儀式的培養上更具創造性。對我們而言，沒有牙仙，沒有準生日，也無須把孩子送奶奶處。獨自生活，我幾乎將自己視為人類群體之外一個浪漫的異類。埃米莉憑著對習俗和禮儀更確切的把握，溫柔地牽著我，領我走向那埋藏最深的常態。

道路兩邊長排的櫻花樹，花瓣在風中打著卷，落在林蔭道上。繁花壓枝，細長的樹枝似乎不堪這粉色重荷，真是可憐。埃米莉的看法是：上周，花一定開得最為完美——這周，開得已經有點兒過了。

地上落英繽紛，堆了厚厚一層，蔫了的花瓣就此歸為無用的殘物，免不了被踐踏的命運。

草地上坐得長了很冷。天陰沉沉的，要下雨的樣子。

埃米莉領我離開了這憂郁的美景，到了郁金香花圃。埃米莉是個有主見的女人，下個地方該去哪兒，如何以最佳方式抵達，她腦海中一直有張圖。這次，她找到了壯觀的雙排郁金香，展示方式似特意為之，就像塞尚的畫展。我喜歡外面淡黃里面深黃的那種。埃米莉認為郁金香的內部非常性感。她曾是個攝影師。我們都認為黑郁金香也很美：其實它們一點兒也不黑，只是一種深紫棕，像薄而起皺的古董天鵝絨。“得克薩斯火焰”是白色的，花瓣上有條紋狀橙色火舌。

我有點兒膩煩了，想回家。

我們在小賣部停下來買印有丁香枝的便簽簿。離開公園時，我總看到色彩迥異的簇簇鮮花，便問埃米莉是什么花，答案總一樣：“杜鵑花。”

回家路上，在她的大眾汽車里，埃米莉和我像往常一樣聊起找伴侶的難處，找個也有一系列怪癖和嗜好、能合上我們暴脾氣的人很難。

“為什么我倆不結婚呢？”我問。

埃米莉笑了：“你每年都這么說一次。”

“那，為什么我們不結婚呢？”

“因為我對你并沒有吸引力。”

我向后靠在座位上，驚嘆于她的誠實。同時，我想起幾小時前，見面時的問候之吻，還有她看起來多么招人愛。“不對，有時我覺得你挺有魅力的。”

“但還不夠。”她不屑一顧地說，并無惡意。

我們繼續往前，都沒說話。我暗想：別再說了，她說得對，還不夠;她把你從自己下的套中救了出來。

終于，埃米莉說：“你不是唯一一個這么想的。”

“想什么？”

“想著我倆應該結婚，我姐姐多拉總這么說。”

（譯者單位：中華女子學院）

【本文的翻譯工作得到國家留學基金資助，項目編號201700830007】