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Time slows down 1 "Daddy let's take a walk." 2 It's an April day in Virginia. He nods puts his hands on the arms of his wheelchair whispers something that makes little sense. I try to help him up but he is too heavy and limp. 3 "Come for a walk and then I've brought you a surprise." 4 The white curtains surge in the breeze. 5 Shivering he complains it's chilly. "It's cold I'm tired. Can't we go home now?" 6 Suddenly we're far away in a time long past in part of a harbor I've never seen before. December Chicago I'm five and cold. One glove is lost. My feet are tired. His legs are longer; he strides quickly through melting snow toward buildings like airplane sheds with immense doors. 7 This is the most exciting place I have ever been. Suddenly my fatigue is gone. I could walk along here forever at least until I find out how to get aboard one of the boats. 8 We slow down our pace. Smaller sheds now. A green diner. Smells of fish and smoke. We enter a little hut. Barrels of salty water string bags of shellfish bundles of fish laid out on ice. 9 "Daddy look at that snake!" 10 "No that's an eel" says Daddy. "Smoked. We'll take a portion home for supper." 11 "I certainly won't eat that!" 12 "All right" he says and carries the smelly package. As we walk back he tells me about migrations of eels to the Sargasso Sea: how eels come down Dalmatian rivers and swim across the Mediterranean and then the whole Atlantic until they reach the warm Sargasso Sea. Here they lay their eggs and then the baby eels swim back to the native rivers of their parents. 13 Back at last in the apartment he unwraps the eel opens his pocket knife and slices carefully. 14 "I won't eat it" I say suspiciously. 15 "Try one bite just for me." 16 "I won't like it." 17 While he hangs up our coats I test one pinch. Smelly smoky and salty. 18 He goes into the kitchen to heat milk for me and tea for himself. I test another pinch. Then another. He returns with the steaming cups. 19 The eel has vanished. 20 Because it is Sunday and I am five he forgives me. Time slows down and the love flows in father to daughter and back again. 21 At 19 I fly out to Japan. My father and I climb Mount Fuji. High above the Pacific and hours up the slope we picnic on dried eel seaweed crackers and cold rice wrapped in the eel skin. He reaches the peak first. 22 As the years stretch we walk along waterways all over the world. With his long stride he often overtakes me. I've never known anyone with such energy. 23 Some days time flies with joy all around. Other days time rots like old fish. 24 Today in the nursing home in Virginia anticipating his reluctance I beg boldly and encourage him "Please Daddy just a little walk. You are supposed to exercise." 25 He can't get out of his chair. Not that he often gets up on his own but once in a while he'll suddenly have a surge of strength. I stoop to lift his feet from the foot restraints fold back the metal pieces which often scrape his delicate paper-thin skin. "Come now you can stand." 26 He grips the walker and struggles forward. Gradually I lift and pull him to his feet. Standing unsteadily he sways and then gains his balance. 27 "See you made it! That's wonderful! All right I'll be right behind you my hand in the small of your back. Now forward march!" 28 He is impatient with the walker as I accompany him to the dining room. I help him to his chair and hand him a spoon. It slips from his fingers. Pureed tuna is heaped on a plastic plate. I encourage him sing him old songs tell stories but he won't eat. When I lift a spoonful of gray fishy stuff to his mouth he says politely "I don't care for any." 29 Nor would I. 30 Then I take the small smelly package covered in white wrapping paper from a plastic bag. He loves presents and he reaches forward with awkward fingers to try to open it. The smell fills the room. 31 "Look Daddy they've been out of it for months but at last this morning at the fish seller near the Potomac I found some smoked eel." 32 We unwrap it and then I take out the Swiss Army Knife my beloved aunt gave me "for safekeeping" and slice the silvery flesh. 33 "What a beautiful picnic" my father beams. 34 He takes a sip of his champagne and then with steady fingers picks up a slice of eel and downs it easily. Then another and another until he eats the whole piece. And again time slows down and the love flows in daughter to father and back again. 那一刻，时光驻足 “爸爸，我们去散散步吧。” 这是弗吉尼亚四月的一天。他点点头，把手放到轮椅的扶手上，嘟哝着谁也听不懂的话。我试着扶他起来，但是他太重了，而且也太虚弱了。 “去散散步，然后呢——我给你带来了一个惊喜。” 微风吹过，白色的窗帘飘了起来。 他哆嗦着，抱怨天太冷。“冷，我累了。我们现在回家不行吗？” 突然间，我们仿佛回到了很久很久以前，我们来到一个我从来没见过的港口。那时是十二月份，在芝加哥，我五岁，我很冷。一只手套丢了。我也走不动了。他的腿长多了，大步流星地走过正在融化的雪地，走向一群装着大门的像是飞机机库一样的建筑。 这是我到过的最令人兴奋的地方。忽然之间，我的疲惫消失得无影无踪。我可以一直在这里走下去，起码可以一直走到我设法登上其中的一条船为止。 我们放慢了脚步。现在我们看到的是一些小一点的货棚，还有一间绿色的小餐馆。四周弥漫着鱼和烟的味道。我们走进一个小棚里。里面是一桶桶的海水，一网兜一网兜的贝类海鲜，还有一捆捆放在冰块上的鱼。 “爸爸，快看那条蛇！” “不，那是鳗鱼，” 爸爸说。“烟熏的。我们买一段回家当晚饭吃。” “我才不吃那个东西呢！” “好吧，”他说道，然后拿起那包腥味很重的鱼。我们往回走的时候，他给我讲鳗鱼向马尾藻海洄游的故事：鳗鱼怎样从达尔玛提亚地区的河流游过地中海，再游过整个大西洋，直到抵达温暖的马尾藻海。它们在那里产卵，然后幼鱼再游回到它们的父母原先待过的河流。 我们终于回到了公寓。他拆开鳗鱼包，打开折叠小刀，小心地切片。 “我不吃，”我狐疑地说道。 “尝一口，就算为了我。” “我不会喜欢它的。” 当他在挂我们的外套时，我尝了一丁点儿。很腥，带着烟熏味，还咸咸的。 他去厨房帮我热牛奶，并给他自己热茶。我又尝了一丁点儿。然后，又尝了一点儿。他从厨房回来，端着热气腾腾的杯子。 鳗鱼已经消失得无影无踪了。 因为是星期天，我又只有五岁，他原谅了我。时光在此刻驻足，爱意在此刻流淌——从父亲流向女儿，又从女儿流向父亲。 十九岁的时候，我飞去日本。父亲和我一起登富士山。我们爬了几小时后，在俯瞰太平洋的山坡上野餐，吃着鳗鱼干、海苔饼干和鳗鱼皮包的冷饭团。他第一个登上山顶。 随着岁月的流逝，我们游遍了世界各地的江川湖海。他步子大，所以经常走得比我快。我不知道除了他，还有谁能有如此旺盛的精力。 有些日子，时间在快乐中飞逝，也有些日子会像不新鲜的鱼一样，令人难受。 今天，在弗吉尼亚的养老院里，虽然明知他不太愿意，我还是大胆地请求他、鼓励他：“来吧，爸爸，就走一小会儿。你应该锻炼锻炼。” 他无法从轮椅上站起来。不是说他能常常靠自己站起身来，但是偶尔，他会突然来那么一股子劲儿。我弯下身，把他的脚从脚蹬里拿出来，收起经常把他脆弱的、薄纸般的皮肤擦伤的金属脚踏。“来，你现在可以站起来了。” 他抓住助步车，努力往前起身。慢慢地，我连拖带拽地帮他站了起来。他站在那儿，有点儿不稳，摇摇晃晃，然后才站稳了。 “看，你做到了！太好了！好吧，我就跟在你后面，我会用手扶着你的腰。好，往前，往前走！” 我陪着他往餐厅走，一路上他对助步车很不耐烦。我扶他在椅子上坐下，递给他一把勺子。勺子从他的指间滑落。塑料餐盘上是一堆金枪鱼肉糜。我鼓励他吃，唱老歌给他听，给他讲故事，但是他不肯吃。当我举起一勺灰灰的鱼肉糜送到他嘴边时，他客气地说：“我一点儿也不想吃。” 换了我，我也不想吃。 于是，我从一个塑料袋里取出一小包用白纸包着的带着腥味的东西。他喜欢礼物。他伸手用不怎么灵活手指试着打开纸包。房间里满是鱼腥味。 “看，爸爸，他们已经断货好几个月了。今天早上，我终于在波托马克河附近的鱼贩子那里找到了一些熏鳗鱼。” 我们把纸包打开，然后我拿出我亲爱的姨妈送给我的那把“防身用”的瑞士军刀，切开银色的鱼肉。 “多么美妙的野餐啊，”父亲笑容满面地说。 他呷了一口香槟，然后用一点儿也不哆嗦的手指捏起一片鳗鱼肉，轻松地咽了下去。接着，他吃了一片又一片，直到把整块鱼吃完。再一次，时光在此刻驻足，爱意在此刻流淌——从女儿流向父亲，又从父亲流向女儿。 |
