Made for Water我的胖姨媽

文/By+Luci+N.+Fuller+譯/張玲

Mom took me to my Aunt Marilyn's house to be watched while she went to work. I was afraid of that woman， who was larger than anyone is ever supposed to be， and I cried the entire way， every day， down the cracked narrow sidewalk to her house. The wind blew hard on my face， pushing me back. My mother pressed on1）， dragging me by the hand—around the corner， past the church on the left， and straight up to my aunt's front door.

My mother knocked， and I hid behind her. Aunt Marilyn's slow， heavy steps vibrated2） under my feet as I heard her coming to the door： thud， thud， thud—like the dinosaur in Jurassic Park. The door swung3） open and my aunt's pungent4） aroma5）—a unique， acidic scent—rushed out. That's the way you smell when you're fat， I thought. The smell rushed out of the door and into my nose， but it didn't stop there. It wrapped itself around my body， grabbed me， and pulled me inside her house.

A talented artist， she spent much of her time in front of an easel6）. While she skillfully placed thick， luxuriant layers of paint onto her canvas7）， I contemplated8） her unique features. She had long black hair that almost reached her waist and enormous round feet. She was barefoot most of the time because people don't make shoes that big. Her paintings depicted vivid landscapes， full of texture9） and life. How does she know how to paint them？ I wondered. Had she ever been that far from her weary kitchen chair？

Sometimes， I went to the bathroom out of boredom. I lounged10） on the toilet and stared into the stained porcelain bowl11）， my thighs flattened out against the cold rim. I estimated that each thigh was as big around as one of Aunt Marilyn's wrists， and I sat upright in horror. If one of Aunt Marilyn's thighs was as big around as my whole body， then how could she fit onto the toilet？ I eyed the free-standing bathtub： no way could she wedge12） her coagulated13） mass into that！ Could she even fit through the narrow doorway？ I ran from the room in terror.

At lunchtime， we often ate giant cheese sandwiches toasted golden brown. I ate small， timid bites. I knew food like that made you fat—then you smelled， and had to go barefoot， and had to wear skirts you sewed yourself—because people don't make skirts that big. My fear of the woman was nothing compared to my fear of becoming her. I tried to hide it， but the way she looked at me I think she knew.

On hot summer days， my mother and my aunt took all of us cousins out to Ash Lake for a day of swimming and picnicking. I couldn't swim yet， but I liked to pretend I could. I propelled14） myself through the water by pushing off the muddy lake bottom as each arm-stroke completed its downward motion through the water. I kicked， splashed， and basked in the sun-warmed shallows while the other children swam， and our mothers relaxed on the shore， talking.endprint