Sixteen 豆蔻初恋

莫琳·戴利 译/聂雅真 郭庆怡

You see， it was funny how I met him. It was a winter night like any other winter night. And I didn’t have my Latin done either. But the way the moon tinseled the twigs and silver-plated the snow drifts， I just couldn’t stay inside. The skating rink isn’t far from my house—you can make it in five minutes if the sidewalks aren’t slippery， so I went skating. I remember it took me a long time to get ready that night because I had to darn my skating socks first. I don’t know why they always wear out so fast—just in the toes， too. Maybe it’s because I have metal protectors on the toes of my skates. That properly is why. And then I brushed my hair—hard， so hard it clung to my hand and stood up around my head in a hazy halo.

My skates were hanging by the back door all nice and shiny， for I’d just gotten them for Christmas and they smelled so queer—just like fresh-smoked ham. My dog walked with me as far as the corner. She’s a red chow， very polite and well-mannered， and she kept pretending it was me she liked when all the time I knew it was the ham smell. She panted along beside me and her hot breath made a frosty little balloon balancing on the end of her nose. My skates thumped me good-naturedly on the back as I walked and the night was breathlessly quiet and the stars winked down like a million flirting eyes. It was all so lovely.

It was all so lovely I ran most of the way and it was lucky the sidewalks had ashes on them or I’d have slipped surely. The ashes crunched like crackerjack and I could feel their cindery shape through the thinness of my shoes. I always wear old shoes when I go skating.

I had to cut across someone’s back garden to get to the rink and last summer’s grass stuck through the thin ice， brown and discouraged. Not many people came through this way and the crusted snow broke through the little hollows between corn stubbles frozen hard in the ground. I was out of breath when I got to the shanty—out of breath with running and with the loveliness of the night. Shanties are always such friendly places. The floor all hacked to wet splinters from skate runners and the wooden wall frescoed with symbols of dead romance. There was a smell of singed wool as someone got too near the glowing isinglass grid of the iron stove. Girls burst through the door laughing with snow on their hair and tripped over shoes scattered on the floor. A pimply-faced boy grabbed the hat from the frizzled head of an eighth-grade blonde and stuffed it into an empty galosh to prove his love and then hastily bent to examine his skate strap with innocent unconcern.

It didn’t take me long to get my own skates on and I stuck my shoes under the bench—far back where they wouldn’t get knocked around and would be easy to find when I wanted to go home. I walked out on my toes and the shiny runners of my new skates dug deep into the sodden floor.

It was snowing a little outside—quick， but melted as soon as they touched your hand. I don’t know where the snow came from for there were stars out. Or maybe the stars were in my eyes and I just kept seeing them every time I looked up into the darkness. I waited a moment. You know， to start to skate at a crowded rink is like jumping on a moving merry-go-round. Once in， I went all right. At least， after I found out exactly where the rough ice was. It was “round， round， jump the rut， round， round， round， jump the rut， round， round—”

And then he came. All of a sudden his arm was around my waist so warm and tight and he said very casually， “Mind if I skate with you？” and then he took my other hand. That’s all there was to it. Just that and then we were skating. It wasn’t that I’d never skated with a boy before. Don’t be silly. I told you before I get around. But this was different. He was a smoothie！ He was a big shot up at school and he went to all the big dances and he was the best dancer in town except Harold Wright who didn’t count because he’d been to college in New York for two years！ Don’t you see？ This was different.

At first I can’t remember what we talked about， I can’t even remember if we talked at all. We just skated and skated and laughed every time we came to that rough spot and pretty soon we were laughing all the time at nothing at all. It was all so lovely.

Then we sat on the big snow bank at the edge of the rink and just watched. It was cold at first even with my skating pants on， sitting on that hard heap of snow， but pretty soon I got warm all over. He threw a handful of snow at me and it fell in a little white shower on my hair and he leaned over to brush it off. I held my breath. The night stood still.

The moon hung just over the warming shanty like a big quarterslice of muskmelon and the smoke from the pipe chimney floated up in a sooty fog. One by one the houses around the rink twinked out their lights and somebody’s hound wailed a mournful apology to a star as he curled up for the night. It was all so lovely.

Then he sat up straight and said， “We’d better start home.” Not “Shall I take you home？” or “Do you live far？” but “We’d better start home.” See， that’s how I know he wanted to take me home. Not because he had to but because he wanted to. He went to the shanty to get my shoes. “Black ones，” I told him. “Same size as Garbo’s.” And laughed again. He was still smiling when he came back and took off my skates and tied the wet skate strings in a soggy knot and put them over his shoulder. Then he held out his hand and I slid off the snow bank and brushed off the seat of my pants and we were ready.

It was snowing harder now. Big， quiet flakes that clung to twiggy bushes and snuggled in little drifts against the tree trunks. The night was an etching in black and white. It was all so lovely I was sorry I lived only a few blocks away. He talked softly as we walked as if every little word were a secret. “Did I like Wayne King， and did I plan to go to college next year and had I a cousin who lived in Appleton and knew his brother？” A very respectable Emily Post sort of conversation， and then finally—“how nice I looked with snow in my hair and had I ever seen the moon so—close？” For the moon was following us as we walked and ducking playfully behind a chimney every time I turned to looked at it. And then we were home.

The porch light was on. My mother always puts the porch light on when I go away at night. And we stood there a moment by the front steps and the snow turned pinkish in the glow of the colored light and a few feathery flakes settled on his hair. Then he took my skates and put them over my shoulder and said， “Good night now. I’ll call you，” he said.

I went inside then and in a moment he was gone. I watched him from my window as he went down the street. He was whistling softly and I waited until the sound faded away so I couldn’t tell if it was he or my heart whistling out there in the night. And then he was gone， completely gone.

I shivered. Somehow the darkness seemed changed. The stars were little hard chips of light far up in the sky and the moon stared down with a sullen yellow glare. The air was tense with sudden cold and a gust of wind swirled his footprints into white oblivion. Everything was quiet.

But he’d said， “I’ll call you.” That’s what he said， “I’ll call you.” I couldn’t sleep all night.

And that was last Thursday. Tonight is Tuesday. Tonight is Tuesday and my homework’s done， and I darned some stockings that didn’t really need it， and I worked a cross-word puzzle， and I listened to the radio and now I’m just sitting. I’m just sitting because I can’t think of anything else to do. I can’t think of anything， anything but snowflakes and ice skates and yellow moons and Thursday night. The telephone is sitting on the corner table with its old black face turned to the wall so I can’t see its leer. I don’t even jump when it rings any more. My heart still prays but my mind just laughs. Outside the night is still， so still I think I’ll go crazy and the white snow’s all dirtied and smoked into grayness and the wind is blowing the arc light so it throws weird， waving shadows from the trees onto the lawn—like thin， starved arms begging for I don’t know what. And so I’m just sitting here and I’m not feeling anything. I’m not even sad because all of a sudden I know. I can’t sit here now forever and laugh and laugh while the tears run salty in the corners of my mouth. For all of a sudden I know， I know what the stars knew all the time—he’ll never， never call—never.

你们不知道，我与他的相遇还挺有意思的。那是一个冬夜，与其他冬夜毫无二致。而我还没有完成我的拉丁文作业。但是，看见月亮为树枝镀上金箔，为雪堆镀上银箔，我在屋里说什么也待不住了。滑冰场离家也不远——如果人行道不太滑，走过去也就五六分钟，所以我决定，去滑冰。记得那天晚上准备了好久，因为我得先补好滑冰袜。我不懂这袜子为什么总这么不经穿——还总是脚趾的地方磨破。可能是因为我在冰鞋脚趾部位衬了个金属护趾。一准儿就是这护趾闹的。然后，我梳了梳头——使了大劲儿梳，大得头发都贴在手上再竖在头上，形成了一圈朦胧晕轮。

我的冰鞋就挂在后门，铮光锃亮，那是我刚得的圣诞礼物，还带着股新鞋的怪味儿——就像新鲜熏制的火腿。我的狗一直跟着我到了街角。她是一条红毛松狮犬，很守规矩，也很温顺。她一直像是亲近我，但我始终知道她其实是喜欢那股火腿味儿。她气喘吁吁跟着我，呼出的热气凝成一个小霜球在鼻尖上晃来晃去。我走路时冰鞋在我背上轻轻跳动着。夜，沉静得令人窒息;星星，像无数眨动着的眼睛。太美了，這一切！

太美了，这一切！我几乎一路奔了过去，还算运气好，人行道铺上了煤渣，要不我肯定早滑倒了。煤渣踩上去嘎吱嘎吱响，像爆米花，隔着薄薄的鞋底，我能感觉到煤渣不太平整。我去溜冰时总是穿双旧鞋。

去冰场必须穿过人家的后花园，而今年夏天的草钻出了薄冰，黄黄的，蔫蔫的。……