與人為鄰的藝術

I used to believe in the American dream that meant a job， a mortgage， cable， credit，

1）warranties， success. I wanted it and worked toward it like everyone else， all of us separately chasing the same thing. One year， through a series of unhappy events， it all fell apart. I found myself homeless and alone. I had my truck and $56.

I scoured the countryside for some place I could rent for the cheapest possible amount. I came upon a shack in an isolated hollow， four miles up a winding mountain road over the 2）Potomac River in West Virginia. It was abandoned， full of broken glass and rubbish. When I pried off the plywood over a window and climbed in， I found something I could put my hands to. I hadn’t been alone for 25 years. I was scared， but I hoped the hard work would distract and heal me.

I found the owner and rented the place for $50 a month. I took a bedroll， broom， rope， a gun and cooking gear and cleared a corner to camp in while I worked. The locals knew nothing about me. But slowly they started teaching me the art of being a neighbor. They dropped off blankets， candles， tools and canned deer meat. And they began sticking around to chat.

They asked if I wanted to meet cousin Albie or go fishing， maybe get drunk some night. They started to teach me a belief in a different American dream， not the one of individual achievement but of neighborliness. Men would stop by with wild berries， ice cream， truck parts and bullets to see if I was up for courting. I wasn’t， but they were civil anyway.

The women on that mountain worked harder than any I’d ever met. They taught me the value of a 3）whetstone to sharpen my knives， how to store food in the creek and keep it cold and safe. I learned to keep enough for an extra plate for company.

What I had believed in， all those things I thought were the necessary 4）accouterments for a civilized life， were nonexistent in this place. Up on the mountain， my most valuable possessions were my relationships with my neighbors.

After four years in that hollow， I moved back into town. I saw that a lot of people were having a really hard time， losing their jobs and homes. With the help of a real estate broker I chatted up at the grocery store， I managed to rent a big enough house to take in a handful of people. We’d all be in shelters if we hadn’t banded together.

The American dream I believe in now is a shared one. It’s not so much about what I can get for myself； it’s about how we can all get by together.

我以前信奉美國夢就是指有一份工作，有一套按揭房，裝上有線網(wǎng)絡，有信用，有各種保修單，同時事業(yè)有成。我希望如此，并且像其他所有人一樣為之而努力，我們所有人都分別追求著同樣的目標。有一年，經(jīng)歷了一連串不幸事件后，夢碎了。我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己無家可歸，孤身一人。只剩下我的卡車和56美元。

我走遍鄉(xiāng)村，尋找能夠以最低價錢可以租到的容身之所。在一個偏遠的山谷里，我找到了一間小屋子。這個地方位于西弗吉尼亞，在距離波拖馬可河四英里的一條蜿蜒山路上。那是一間廢棄的屋子，里面滿是碎玻璃和垃圾。當我撬開一扇窗戶上的夾板爬進屋里時，我發(fā)現(xiàn)了一些我能做的事。我已有25年沒有形單影只過了。我很害怕，但我希望艱苦的勞動能轉(zhuǎn)移我的憂思，為我療傷。

我找到屋主，并且以每月50美元的價格租下了這個地方。我拿出一個鋪蓋卷、一把掃帚、一柄槍和一個煮食爐，我還邊干活兒，邊清理出了一個角落以便居住。當?shù)厝藢ξ乙粺o所知。但慢慢地，他們開始教給我與人為鄰的藝術。他們放下毯子、蠟燭、工具和腌制的鹿肉。他們開始常來看我，跟我聊天。

他們問我是否想見艾爾貝表親或者去釣魚，或是某天喝個酩酊大醉。他們開始教給我另一種美國夢的信念，并不是那種關乎個人成就的哲學，而是關乎鄰里友善。男士們會帶著野漿果、冰激凌、卡車部件和子彈來看我有沒有這些需要。我也不怎么需要這些東西，但不管怎樣，他們都會有禮相贈。……