陌生人的禮物

瑪麗亞·勒瓦

李 燕編譯

他使我領(lǐng)悟到一種持續(xù)一生的愛(ài)

WAS 20 YEARS OLD when my mother passed away. It was the first real blow that life had dealt me, and I thought I would never recover. Then,as the months passed,I gradually became reconciled to the immutable. By the time the following spring came,the pain was almost bearable and again I could find pleasure in the miraculous renewal of nature.

At first,I went to the cemetery with trepidation. But then,amazingly,my thoughts no longer lingered on my mothers terrible suffering before she died and the ensuing mourning. By tending her grave and decorating it with flowers,I was ridding myself of the painful memories.

The years passed. I moved from Kaposvar,Hungary,the town where I had been born and had spent my youth. So did my siblings. We only came together on feast days,especially on All Souls Day in the cemetery.

Father lived with me for many years,to a ripe old age. His long life in a way compensated for the untimely loss of my mother. Now that he,too,rests beneath the white marble stone,I go even more eagerly to the cemetery. If at all possible,I visit my loved ones on bright,sunny days. While I tend my parents grave site,again I am with them in thought. The silence there exudes tremendous peace and calm.

I often look at the people busying themselves at other plots and wonder whom they are mourning. I dont know them, but I feel somehow we are brothers.

One day I noticed a modest grave site behind my parents plot. It lay humbly among the magnificent granite and marble markers of the other graves,its very simplicity calling attention to itself. Ivy had covered the site and its only decoration was a simple wooden cross on which was written in copper letters a name,and that she lived 22 years. Whenever I went by,the plot and its surroundings looked cared for and neat,and each time my imagination conjured up new scenarios about this mysterious woman who had lived all of 22 years.

Once I saw an elderly man leaving from there. I concluded that perhaps he had come to visit his wife. In 1996 I was preparing for All Souls Day in the cemetery when again I caught sight of him,tending the grave. Tall,somewhat bent,he was well past middle age. We nodded to each other and continued our work. Occasionally I stole a glance at my neighbor. When I noticed that he didnt have the tools for a proper cleanup,I offered him mine,which he gratefully accepted. After this,it seemed only natural to engage him in conversation. I asked him whose grave it was. This was his answer:

“My mothers. she died young, in 1912,when I was only a year-and-a-half old. I really never knew her. I made her that cross and the copper letters.”

Then he went on:“No one comes to visit this grave besides me because I was her only child. She died of pneumonia. My father remarried and my stepmother only cared for her own children,my stepbrothers and sisters. So then I always came here to my mother,whether in sadness or in joy. Later,life took me far afield,but I never forgot this grave. For me it was the same as the family home is for others. I always came home here.

“With the years passing,it is getting more difficult for me to come,but as long as my legs will carry me,at least twice a year I visit my mother. I am in my 80s,so who knows how long I can still make it.”

In stunned silence I listened. Tears clouded my eyes as I realized that I had never seen such boundless love. How much easier is my lot,I thought,for at any moment I can reach into my storehouse of memories and draw out the joyful or sad vignettes that bind me to my parents with a thousand threads. What memories might this kindly old gentleman harbor?Perhaps a face from an ancient faded photograph of his mother.

What a great attachment throughout his long life must have led him back again and again to the resting place of that young woman whose motherly love he could never truly savor,only forever feels its enormous lack.

We said good-bye. I was deeply moved because I knew that I had been given a great gift. I had been allowed a glimpse of the loyal and long-lasting affection that bound a simple and noble-hearted man to his mother.

On the way home I thought again of his touching story. I decided that if weeds ever began to show on the neighboring grave,I would tend it together with that of my parents. By then,my kind-hearted acquaintance probably will be surveying my ministrations from above,where,finally,the aged child will have met his youthful mother.

母親去世時(shí)我20歲。那是生命中第一次遭受真正的打擊，我認(rèn)為再也不可能恢復(fù)常態(tài)了。幾個(gè)月以后，我漸漸地接受了這個(gè)無(wú)法改變的事實(shí)。隨著春天的到來(lái)，這種痛苦幾乎可以承受了，我又可以在大自然神奇的復(fù)蘇中找到快樂(lè)。

起初，我?guī)е话驳男那槿ツ赣H的墓地。后來(lái)，令人吃驚的是，我的思想不再停留在母親去世前所遭受的痛苦以及隨之而來(lái)的哀悼中。通過(guò)照料她的墓穴，并用鮮花點(diǎn)綴著它，我從痛苦的記憶中擺脫出來(lái)。

多年過(guò)去了，我離開(kāi)了匈牙利的卡波斯瓦鎮(zhèn)，我在那里出生，并且度過(guò)了青年時(shí)代。我的兄弟姐妹也都離去。我們只是在宗教的節(jié)日里才一起去墓地，尤其是在萬(wàn)靈節(jié)。

父親與我生活了多年，直至高齡。他的長(zhǎng)壽是對(duì)母親猝然離去的一種彌補(bǔ)。現(xiàn)在，他也長(zhǎng)眠于白色的大理石下面了，我更渴望去墓地了。如果可能的話，在明亮的日子里，我去為親人掃墓。當(dāng)我清理父母的墓地時(shí)，我與他們的思想又一次溝通了。那里的沉默顯得過(guò)于平靜。

我經(jīng)常看到在其他的墓地上忙碌著的人。猜測(cè)他們?cè)跒檎l(shuí)哀悼。我與他們并不熟悉，可是不知為什么，我覺(jué)得我們是同伴。

一天，在父母墓地的后面我注意到一塊不起眼的墓地。它卑微地位于其他由宏偉的花崗石與大理石砌成的墓地之間，很容易注意到它。墓碑上爬滿了常春藤。一個(gè)簡(jiǎn)單的木制十字架是它唯一的點(diǎn)綴，碑上的幾個(gè)銅字是個(gè)人名，她活了22歲。無(wú)論何時(shí)我經(jīng)過(guò)它，墓地及其周?chē)瓷先ケ徽樟线^(guò)，很整潔。對(duì)于這個(gè)總共生活了22年的神秘女子，每次都引起我對(duì)一種新情景的想象。

我曾看到一位老人離開(kāi)這兒。我斷定也許他來(lái)為妻子掃墓。1996年，我在墓地為萬(wàn)靈節(jié)做著準(zhǔn)備工作，再一次見(jiàn)到了他，正清理著墓穴。他長(zhǎng)得高大，有點(diǎn)駝背，肯定過(guò)了中年。我們相互點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭，繼續(xù)忙各自的事。偶爾地，我偷眼看看我的鄰居。我發(fā)現(xiàn)他沒(méi)有掃墓應(yīng)備的工具，便把我的給他，他很感激的接受了。這以后，似乎很自然的與他談話。我問(wèn)他那是誰(shuí)的墓。他說(shuō)：

“我母親的。她于1912年去世，很年輕，當(dāng)時(shí)，我只有一歲半。我從未真正見(jiàn)過(guò)她。我為她做了十字架，并刻了銅字。”

然后他繼續(xù)說(shuō)：“除我以外，沒(méi)人來(lái)掃墓，因?yàn)槲沂撬ㄒ坏暮⒆印Ｋ烙诜窝住Ｎ腋赣H再婚了，繼母只照顧自己的孩子，我的繼兄弟，繼姐妹。所以無(wú)論是難過(guò)還是高興，我總是到母親這里來(lái)。后來(lái)，為了生活，我遠(yuǎn)離他鄉(xiāng)，可是我從未忘記這個(gè)墓穴。對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)，這里就像別人的家一樣。我總是回到這兒的家。”

“隨著歲月的流逝，對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)，來(lái)這里越來(lái)越困難了，可是只要我的腿還靈活，我至少每年兩次為母親掃墓。我現(xiàn)在80歲了，誰(shuí)知道這種事我還能做多久呢？”

在令人驚愕的沉默中我傾聽(tīng)著。當(dāng)意識(shí)到從未見(jiàn)過(guò)如此無(wú)限的愛(ài)時(shí)，淚水模糊了雙眼。我想，我的境況多么輕松啊，在任何時(shí)候都能探進(jìn)記憶的寶庫(kù)，從中取出高興或悲傷的片斷，它們使我與父母有著千絲萬(wàn)縷的聯(lián)系。這位慈祥的老者能懷有什么往事呢？可能是張年代久遠(yuǎn)的褪色照片上母親的面容。

在長(zhǎng)久的生命中，定是這深深地依戀使他一次次回到年輕女子的休息處。他從未真正體會(huì)過(guò)，只是永遠(yuǎn)感到缺少深沉的母愛(ài)。

我們說(shuō)了再見(jiàn)。因?yàn)槲颐靼滓咽盏搅艘环莺穸Y，所以被深深打動(dòng)了。我已默默領(lǐng)悟到一個(gè)有著平凡而高尚心靈的男子對(duì)母親忠實(shí)而長(zhǎng)久的愛(ài)。

在回家的路上我又一次想起他那感人的故事。我決定倘若鄰居的墓穴再有雜草時(shí)，我會(huì)與父母的一起護(hù)理。那時(shí)，我那熱心的熟人可能會(huì)從墓上看到我的照料，最終，年老的孩子會(huì)見(jiàn)到他年輕的母親。