小小雜貨店

Two blocks away from the Mississippi State Capitol， and on the same street with it， where our house was when I was a child growing up in 1）Jackson， it was possible to have a little pasture behind your backyard where you could keep a Jersey cow， which we did. My mother herself milked her. A 2）thrifty homemaker， wife， mother of three， she did all her own cooking. And as far as I can recall， she never set foot inside a grocery store. It wasn’t necessary.

For all her regular needs， she stood at the telephone in our front hall and consulted with Mr. Lemly， of Lemly’s Market and Grocery downtown， who took her order and sent it out on his next delivery. And since Jackson at the heart of it was still within very near reach of the open country， the blackberry lady clanged on her bucket with a 3）quart measure at your front door in June without fail， the watermelon man rolled up to your house exactly on time for 4）the Fourth of July， and down through the summer， the quiet of the early-morning streets was pierced by the calls of farmers driving in with their plenty.

My mother considered herself pretty well prepared in her kitchen for any emergency that， in her words， might choose to present itself. But if she should， all of a sudden， need another lemon or find she was out of bread， all she had to do was call out， “Quick！ Who’d like to run to the Little Store for me？”

I would.

Our store had its name—it was that of the grocer who owned it， whom I’ll call Mr. Sessions—but “the Little Store” is what we called it at home.

As I set forth for the Little Store， a tune would float toward me from the house where there lived three sisters， girls in their teens， who 5）ratted their hair over their ears， wore headbands like gladiators， and were considered to be very popular. They’d wind up the Victrola， leave the same record on they’d played before， and you’d see them bobbing past their dining-room windows while they danced with each other.

A little further on， across the street， was the house where the principal of our grade school lived. What if she would come out？ She would halt me in my tracks—she had a very carrying and well-known voice in Jackson， where she’d taught almost everybody—saying “Eudora Alice Welty， spell oblige.” Oblige was the word that she of course knew had kept me from getting a perfect score on my spelling exam.

Our Little Store rose right up from the sidewalk； standing in a street of family houses， it alone hadn’t any yard in front， any tree or flowerbed. It was a plain frame building covered over with brick.

Running in out of the sun， you met what seemed total obscurity inside. There were almost tangible smells—6）licorice recently sucked in a child’s cheek， dill-pickle 7）brine that had leaked through a paper sack in a fresh trail across the wooden floor， and perhaps the smell of still-untrapped mice.

Then through the motes of cracker dust， cornmeal dust， the Gold Dust of the 8）Gold Dust Twins that the floor had been swept out with， the realities emerged. Shelves climbed to high reach all the way around， set out with not too much of any one thing but a lot of things. It was up to you to remember what you came for， while your eye traveled from cans of sardines to ice cream salt to 9）harmonicas to flypaper.

Its confusion may have been in the eye of its beholder. Enchantment is cast upon you by all those things you weren’t supposed to have need for， it lures you close to wooden tops you’d outgrown， boy’s marbles and agates in little net pouches， small rubber balls that wouldn’t bounce straight.

Making up your mind， you circled the store around and around， around the pickle barrel， around the tower of 10）Cracker Jack boxes.

If it seemed too hot for Cracker Jacks， I might get a cold drink. Mr. Sessions might have already stationed himself by the cold-drinks barrel， like a mind reader. When you gave the word， Mr. Sessions plunged his bare arm in to the elbow and fished out your choice， first try. I favored a locally bottled 11）concoction called Lake’s Celery. You drank on the premises， with feet set wide apart to miss the drip， and gave him back his bottle.

But he didn’t hurry you off. A standing scale was by the door， and it could weigh you up to three hundred pounds. Mr. Sessions， whose hands were gentle and smelled of carbolic， would lift you up and set your feet on the platform， hold your loaf of bread for you， and take his time while you stood still. He could even remember what you weighed last time， so you could subtract and announce how much you’d gained. That was good-bye.

The happiness of errands was in part that of running for the moment away from home， a free spirit. I believed the Little Store to be a center of the outside world， and hence of happiness.

In my memory all the people are still attached to the store. Everyone I saw on my way seemed to me then part of my errand， and in a way they were. As I， myself， the free spirit， was part of it too.

我是在杰克遜市長(zhǎng)大的，我們家的房子位于距離密西西比州議會(huì)大廈兩個(gè)街區(qū)遠(yuǎn)的一條大街上。在這里，你可以在你家后院建個(gè)小牧場(chǎng)，養(yǎng)頭澤西種乳牛，我們家就這么干了。我母親會(huì)自己給奶牛擠奶。她是個(gè)勤儉的家庭主婦，身為人妻和三個(gè)孩子的母親，家里的飯菜全由她一個(gè)人包辦。在我的印象中，她從未踏足過任何雜貨店。因?yàn)橥耆珱]必要。

如果需要什么日常用品，母親會(huì)用家里前廳的電話打給萊姆利先生，向他咨詢。萊姆利先生是位于市區(qū)的萊姆利市場(chǎng)與雜貨店的老板，他會(huì)接下母親的訂單并在下個(gè)送貨日給母親送貨過來。又因杰克遜的中心位置離田野還算比較近，賣黑莓的女士必會(huì)在六月份出現(xiàn)在你家門前，手拿舀黑莓的量杯敲打著她的桶子。賣西瓜的大叔也會(huì)無比準(zhǔn)時(shí)地在7月4日的獨(dú)立日到來前上門叫賣，并持續(xù)整個(gè)夏季。農(nóng)民們會(huì)開車過來趕集，車上裝著自家的農(nóng)產(chǎn)品，叫喊聲打破了清晨街道的寧靜。

母親認(rèn)為，用她的話來說，對(duì)于廚房里任何可能出現(xiàn)的不時(shí)之需，她都做好了萬全準(zhǔn)備。但是萬一，她突然發(fā)現(xiàn)她缺了個(gè)檸檬又或者是面包用光了，她所需要做的就是大叫一聲：“快！誰來幫我去一趟小雜貨店？”

我會(huì)去。

我們的雜貨店有它本來的名字——和店主塞申斯先生的名字一樣——但是我們家都叫它“小雜貨店”。

在我走往“小雜貨店”的路上，一首曲子會(huì)從一所房子里傳出，飄入我耳中，那所房子里住了三個(gè)十多歲的姐妹。……