愛與桌子

One day a gentleman came to the orphanage; he talked with the head office and they agreed to allow him to come in. So， every other week he came and taught the children how to do woodworking projects.

I remember the night， when I was eight years old， that I finished my first project. It was a small table with a Formica注 top， and I was so proud of that table. I looked upon it as though I had created a life.

It was absolutely beautiful， not to mention this was the first time in our whole lives that the orphanage had allowed us to use our own minds. It had taken me six weeks to complete my project， and I could hardly wait to give my little table to Mother Winters as a gift.

Mother Winters was our head mistress， the administrator of our orphanage. We called all of our female caretakers “Mother”—it was a title we used when talking to them. As the table legs were not dry from the clear coating that had been applied， the man asked us to wait until our next session before taking our projects to our dormitories. But I was just so excited and happy I couldn’t wait. Besides， my woodworking project was the best one of all (except for this full-size rowboat[劃艇] some ten-year-old nut was trying to build).

I moved my table toward the doorway and waited for the right opportunity to escape. Then out the door I went like a flash， running through the darkness with my little hands underneath the table top， smiling from ear to ear， as I headed toward the dormitory.

When I reached the dormitory I placed the beautiful little table beside my bed， and I just stood there for about ten minutes， looking at what I had created. Then Mother Winters entered the room. I pointed at the table， and she smiled at me. I felt so proud. She asked me where the other children were， and I told her that they were cleaning up the sawdust[木屑] and would be coming soon. She walked over to the table and ran her hand across the slick[光滑的] Formica top. “It is very pretty，” she told me.

When she touched the table leg she noticed that the leg was still wet from the clear coating that I had brushed on earlier. She asked me why I had brought the table into the dormitory with the legs still wet. I did not know what to say， so I just stood there with my head down and I did not say anything.

“Were you supposed to bring this home?” she asked.

“No， ma’am，” I told her.

Mother Winters kicked the table over onto its top with her foot. Then she stepped onto each of the small table legs， breaking them off. She then opened the side door and had me throw the little table out into the yard.

After Mother Winters had left the building， and all the other children were asleep， I opened the side door and went out to get my little table. There was sand stuck all over the legs. I brushed and cried， and brushed and cried， and brushed and cried， but the sand would not come off.

I hid the table in my closet， and I never returned to the wood shop after that， ever again. A year later I gave the little table and legs to Mother Henderson， my houseparent[學生宿舍管理員]， so she could throw them away.

About thirty years later I tried to find as many of the orphanage children as possible in order to have a reunion， which we had in Jacksonville， Florida， in 1991. That’s when I learned that Mother Henderson was living in Asheville， North Carolina.

Several weeks later I drove up to see her， and we visited and talked for about four or five hours. As I was about to leave she asked me to come down to her basement and help her get something important. So we climbed down into her dark， cold， damp[潮濕的] cellar[地下室].

This shaking， 75-year-old woman walked over into a dark corner and picked something up. As she turned around I could see that she was holding a little table with four broken legs.

“Do you remember this?” she said.

I just stood there with my head down， and I did not say a word. I could not speak for fear of crying.

“Roger， I want you to have this.”

Mother Henderson gave me back that table that I had given up for lost so long ago. She had kept it all these years， never knowing if she would ever see me again. Her intention was to save the table， because she could not rid herself of the pain she remembered seeing in this orphan’s eyes. My name， which I had etched[蝕刻] underneath the table， was still there.

Since then， I have sanded[用砂紙擦光]， clear-coated， and replaced the legs. That little Formica table—my first woodworking project so many years ago—now sits in my grand-daughter Chelsea’s bedroom， only a few feet from where I sit now， along with her little plastic chair that her poppa gave her.

I look at that table today with bittersweet memories. I think of my heartbroken disappointment at the time Mother Winters forced me to throw my broken table out of the door. But I am comforted， and rejoice at[對……感到欣喜] the kindness of Mother Henderson， who kept that little table as a remembrance—never wanting to forget the story of a young orphan who tried so very hard to please.

Thank you， Mother Henderson.

有一天，一位男士來到孤兒院。他與辦公室的人交談后，院方同意他進入孤兒院。于是，男士每隔一周就會過來教孩子們做木工。

記得八歲那年的一個晚上，我完成了自己的處女作。那是一張貼了福米卡塑料貼面的小桌子，我真為那張桌子感到驕傲。我看著它，仿佛自己創造了一個生命。

它漂亮極了，更別提這是孤兒院讓我們有生以來第一次進行動腦創作。我花了六周的時間來完成這個作品，真恨不得馬上把我的小桌子作為禮物送給溫特斯媽媽。

溫特斯媽媽是我們的校長，也是孤兒院的管理人。我們把孤兒院里所有女性看護員都稱作“媽媽”——這是我們和她們談話時所用的稱呼。因為桌腿剛涂上的清漆還沒干透，那位男士讓我們等到下節課才把作品帶回宿舍。但是我興奮不已，樂壞了，實在等不下去。再說，我的木工作品是所有作品中最棒的(除了那個十歲小狂人努力制作的實物大小的劃艇以外)。

我把桌子往門口方向移去，等待時機準備溜走。出了門后，我在黑暗中像閃電一般奔跑起來，小手托著桌子底部，咧著大嘴微笑著，朝宿舍跑去。

回到宿舍之后，我把這張漂亮的小桌子放在床邊，呆呆地站了大概十分鐘，望著自己一手創造的作品。然后溫特斯媽媽進來了。我指著桌子，她對我微笑。我自豪極了。她問我其他孩子在哪里。我告訴溫特斯媽媽他們正在清理木屑，很快就會回來。她走到桌子前，撫摸著光滑的福米卡塑料貼面，說:“它真漂亮。”

碰到桌腿時，她發現早前我給桌腿涂上的清漆還沒干透。她問我為什么桌腿上的油漆還沒干就把桌子帶回宿舍。我不知道該怎么回答，于是低著頭站在那里，一言不發。

“老師允許你帶它回家嗎?”她問。

“不，媽媽，”我回答道。

溫特斯媽媽把小桌子踢翻，接著把每一條桌腿都踩掉了。然后她打開側門，讓我把小桌子丟到院子去。

等到溫特斯媽媽離開宿舍、所有孩子都睡著之后，我打開側門，走出去撿回我的小桌子。桌腿上粘滿了沙子，我一邊擦一邊哭，一邊擦一邊哭，一邊擦一邊哭，可是沙子總是擦不掉。

我把桌子藏在衣櫥里，從此再也沒有去過那個木工車間。一年后，我把小桌子和桌腿一起交給宿舍管理員漢德森媽媽，讓她幫我丟掉。

大約30年后的1991年，我試圖找回當時孤兒院的伙伴，準備在(美國)佛羅里達州杰克遜維爾市再次聚首。就在那個時候，我得知漢德森媽媽住在北卡羅來納州的阿什維爾市。

幾周后，我開車去探望漢德森媽媽，見面后我們聊了四五個小時。我正準備離開的時候，她叫我幫她到地下室拿一件很重要的東西。于是我們爬下她那個昏暗、陰冷又潮濕的地下室。

這位75歲的老太太顫抖著走到一個黑暗的角落，拿起什么。當她轉過身來，我能看到她手里拿著一張小桌子和掉下來的四條桌腿。

“你還記得這個嗎?”她問。

我低著頭站在那兒，說不出話來。我害怕自己一開口就會哭出來。

“羅杰，我希望你收下它。”

漢德森媽媽將我已經丟棄多年的桌子交回我手中。這么多年來，縱使不知道是否能與我再見，她依然將它保存至今。她原本只想留著桌子，因為她無法忘記從這個孤兒眼里看到的痛苦。我在桌子底部刻下的名字還在那兒。

自那以后，我用砂紙給桌子拋光，涂上清漆并更換了桌腿。這張小小的福米卡塑料貼面桌子是我許多年前的木工處女作，現在正安放在我孫女切爾西的睡房，離我此時所站的位置只有幾步之遙，它的旁邊還放著她爸爸送給她的小塑料椅子。

如今，我看著那張桌子，心中百味雜陳。我回想起溫特斯媽媽強迫我把壞了的桌子丟出門去時那傷心欲絕的失望。但我也為漢德森媽媽的善意感到慰藉和欣喜——她將這張小小的桌子留作紀念，想永遠記住這么一個故事:一位年幼的孤兒曾經如此竭盡所能，希望討人喜愛。

謝謝你，漢德森媽媽。