石頭殼，金子心

I never intended to get a tortoise… I was in a troubled relationship with a man who was the opposite of me in almost every way， until we discovered we both wanted a pet. We thought we’d finally found some common ground. I was allergic to dogs and cats， so we 1）scouted for other possibilities at the pet store. I pointed to a crowded tank， a glossy shell and a pair of orange ringed eyes.

“This is what you want？” he asked doubtfully.

I nodded.

We named the tortoise Minnie， and by the time we realized she was a he， after an 2）eye-popping male display， the name had stuck.

How could I not love this strange little creature， especially when he clacked his jaw as if he were speaking and drew up his long， lovely neck to sniff the air？

I bathed him in the sink. I hand-fed him 3）avocado， wiggling it so he would think it was live food. I even kissed his shell.

“You’re a little obsessive about him，” my boyfriend accused. “It isn’t normal.”

The more time I spent discovering the tortoise， the more my boyfriend uncovered things about me he didn’t like. My friends were now too loud， and why couldn’t I trade my jeans for something more feminine， with a 4）flounce？ It wasn’t long before I broke up with him， and Minnie and I moved to a small apartment in Chelsea.

Every night I would take Minnie out of the tank， put him on the table and tell him about my day. Sometimes I’d cry because I was lonely. But Minnie always seemed to listen and clack his jaws at just the right time. At night， when I woke up， all I had to do was look across the room and there he was， Buddha in a shell， wise and deeply comforting.

I couldn’t bear another relationship where I was forced to be someone I wasn’t. “You’re odd，” my ex had told me.“All you want to do is watch movies， read books and play with Minnie.” He meant it as a 5）rebuke， but I kept thinking： what was wrong with that kind of 6）nirvana？

Then I met Jeff， a smart， funny journalist who took me to a toy store for our first date， I was anxious about how much I liked him. I invited him to dinner， which I admit was more a dare than a meal. Minnie was on the table in a glass tank with us.

We were having spaghetti. Minnie was having live worms.

Jeff cautiously sat down. He looked at the tortoise tank and didn’t say a word. When Minnie 7）lunged for a worm， Jeff flinched. But he didn’t get up and leave， and at the end of the evening， he asked for another date. He didn’t object weeks later when I wanted us to take Minnie to Central Park， and he came with a picnic basket and a little wrapped gift. Inside was a little red rubber squid toy.

“I thought he’d like it，” Jeff said， wiggling it at Minnie， who lunged toward it.

While my old boyfriend told me how obsessive I was about Minnie， Jeff celebrated our connection， making a fake newspaper cover featuring Minnie and me. （“Startling Tales of Tortoise Life！ She holds me under the 8）faucet！” the headline blared.）

Two years later we married and moved to Hoboken， N.J.， where Minnie resided in a glass tank on a table in my writing studio. All I had to do to see him was turn around.

When Jeff and I had a child， I got critically ill with a rare blood disorder. I was in the hospital for three months and at home in bed for another six. Jeff would bring in our son every morning and set him on the bed so I could cradle and play with him. One day he brought Minnie and a towel and set him on the bed， too.

One afternoon when Jeff wasn’t home and our son was at school， I heard a noise in my office. When I walked in， Minnie wasn’t moving， and when I lifted him， his legs fell gracelessly against my hand. Sobbing， I carried him outside to the backyard. I wanted to bury him there so he’d always be a presence near me， but the ground was rocky and I couldn’t dig a hole deeper than four inches， barely enough to cover his shell. Worse， it started to rain， soaking me. I kept imagining Minnie’s bones floating up from the ground like something out of Stephen King’s 9）Pet Sematary.

So I wrapped him in a towel and ran two blocks to the vet， where， covered in mud and weeping， I let them gently take him from me.

I grieved. Of course， I grieved. But when I told people how much I missed him， how I couldn’t write without him in my office， they didn’t get it.

“He was like a pet rock，” my mother said. “How can you miss a rock？”

People told me about their dogs and cats who had died， and I thought， it’s easy to love the beautiful， the normal. But what about the gifts of loving the strange， the uncommon， the odd？

I felt I would never get over him. Then one day I came home to find Jeff grinning. “Come to your office，” he said.

We walked upstairs， and there on the wall was a painting of Minnie， walking on our wood floors， moving toward an open doorway， his head happily 10）aloft.

I looked at Jeff， astonished. An old high school friend， a painter， had captured Minnie on canvas， and Jeff had hung the portrait inches from where Minnie’s tank used to be.

Recently， when I got up to go to work in my office， I thought about how， for a while， I was unlucky in love. I no more fit in my old life than Minnie had in his tiny pet store tank. I remembered my ex telling me he wanted a girlfriend who was more normal.

Then I looked across the hall to see my husband waving and beaming at me， and I gazed at the wall and there was Minnie. A strange little figure. Uncommon. Odd. And completely and always beloved.

我從未想過自己會養一只烏龜當寵物……那時，我的戀愛生活問題百出，我的男友是一個幾乎在各方面都與我截然相反的人，直到我們發現對方都希望養一只寵物。我們以為我們終于找到了一些共同點。我對貓狗過敏，因此我們在寵物店里搜尋其他可能的選擇。我指著一個擁擠的玻璃缸，里面有一只家伙披著閃亮的外殼，長著一雙眼眶發黃的眼睛。

“這就是你想要的？”他疑惑地問道。

我點了點頭。

我們給這烏龜起了個名字，叫米妮。直到看到它做出一個讓人大吃一驚的雄性行為時，我們才意識到原來“她”是個男孩，“米妮”這個名字也改不掉了。

我怎能不愛上這個奇怪的小家伙呢？特別是當它咔嗒著下巴好像在說話，還伸長著可愛的脖子在空氣中嗅來嗅去的時候。

我在玻璃缸里給它洗澡。我親手給它喂鱷梨，故意把食物晃動起來讓它以為是活的。我甚至還親吻它的外殼。

“你對它有點過度著迷了，”我的男朋友抱怨道。“這不太正常。”

我越是花時間研究這只烏龜，我的男友就越發發現我身上有他不喜歡的方面。我的朋友們現在說話太大聲了，為什么我不能換掉我的牛仔褲，穿上更加有女人味的著裝，比如有荷葉邊的衣服？不久之后，我就和他分手了，我帶著米妮搬到了位于切爾西的一所小公寓里。

每天晚上，我都會把米妮從玻璃缸拿出來，放在桌面上，給它講述我一天的生活。有時我會哭鼻子，那是因為我寂寞了。可是米妮似乎一直都在聆聽，在恰當的時候吧嗒下巴。