生命不能承受之憫

She was maybe six years old， smiling and ladylike[如淑女的] in a gauzy[薄紗的] white dress. The kind of dress that makes me want a daughter. The kind of smile thats heavy on sugar and light on spice[香料， 調(diào)味品]. She walked up to my son， as he wheeled in the circles outside the sanctuary[教堂] after church， and planted herself squarely[正好] in front of his wheelchair. They studied each other closely. He waved hello.

And then， without taking her eyes from his face， she said， “I feel sorry for him.”

I felt it more than I heard it. Deep in my stomach， in that place right below my breastbone[胸骨]. The place where I keep all my fears and my sadness. I felt it like a kick in the ribs[肋骨].

Children ask all sorts of questions about my son.

Why is he in that？ Why cant he walk？ Whats wrong with him？ Will he need that thing forever？

But questions are easy. For children，questions have answers.

“I feel sorry for him” is not a question. It is a statement[陳述] of fact. A revelation[揭露]. A public disclosure[披露] of something I know to be true. Although I fight against it and try to believe otherwise， I know that many people feel the same way. Many people who see my son， smiling and spinning[欺騙， 哄] and exploring his world， and they feel sorry. They feel sadness. But adults know how to filter[過濾]. We know what not to say. We know to bottle it up[隱藏，克制]. This little girl was a leak[漏洞] in the system.

A system that tells her my sons wheelchair is “very sad.”

A system that tells her he is a “poor thing.”

A system that uses words like confined to[關(guān)在……里面]， suffers from[患……病] and bound[受約束的].

A system that prefers to see people like my son as victims[受害者]， as recipients[接受者] of charity[施舍]， as less-fortunates waiting to be healed， rather than seeing them as neighbors， colleagues[同事]， teachers and friends.

A system that tells her my son smiles “in spite of，” rather than simply because he too is a child and has access to[接近] all the same earthly wonders that she does.

Wonders like fireflies， and candlelight， and going fast， and little girls in gauzy white dresses.

So I stood there shocked out of my comfort and fumbling[摸索] around for words to make this right. I wanted so desperately[極度地] to undo[取消] the damage done by a system that is still learning to accept my son. But I was tongue-tied and clumsy[笨拙的] as I mumbled[含糊地說話] something about “not needing to feel sorry…” And I walked away feeling like a failure. As if this little girl represented[描述] the whole world and I had missed my chance to set the record straight.

I realized I am very small. I am only one person.

Then last week， sitting by the pool with my husband and my splashy[引人注目的] little boy， I heard it again. This time from a teen， maybe 19 years old. He had seen us there a few times. Today he had a girl with him. A girl he liked. I could tell. He gestured in our direction.

“Somethings wrong with that kid，” he whispered to her.“Did you see his back？ He cant walk. So sad…”

I felt it more than I heard it. And I put my head down waiting for her reply. Her agreement. Her inevitable[必然的] recognition that， yes， my childs life is very very sad.

“Its not sad，” she said， looking at my son with so much kindness.“My brother was in the Special Olympics. Nothing sad about it. That kid is cute.”

And then my heart turned to mush[糊狀物] and I closed my eyes to keep from crying.

I wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her how rare she is. And how lovely. I wanted to believe she was once a little girl in a gauzy white dress.

More than anything， I wanted to thank her for reminding me that I am not the only one who sees my son for who he is. Unconfined[無拘束的]， unbound[解除束縛的]， human.

I am only one person. But I am not alone.

那個小女孩約摸六歲大，穿著白色的薄紗裙，笑起來像個小淑女似的——那是一條讓我也想養(yǎng)個女兒的漂亮裙子，那是一個甜而不膩的純真笑靨。參加完禮拜之后，我兒子在教堂外面用輪椅轉(zhuǎn)圈圈;她走上前去，直接堵在他的輪椅前面。他倆湊到一起，互相打量著對方，他向她揮手打招呼。

而后，她并沒有將目光從他臉上移開，說道：“我很同情他。”

與其說我聽到了，不如說我感覺到了——在腹部深處，就在胸骨下面，那是我將所有的恐懼與悲傷封存起來的地方，感覺就像有人往我的肋骨狠狠踢了一腳。

孩子們總會對我兒子的情況提出各種各樣的問題。

他為什么坐在那里面？他為什么不能走路？他有什么毛??？他永遠離不開那個玩意兒嗎？

但是，問題還是很好辦的。對于小孩子來說，問題總會有答案。

“我很同情他”并不是一個問題，而是在陳述事實。這是一個被揭露出來的真相，是對一個我再清楚不過的事情進行公開披露。盡管我與之進行抗爭，努力讓自己不這么想，但我知道許多人都是這么認為的。許多見過我兒子的人都會面帶微笑，嘴里說著哄人的話，一邊探索他的世界——他們?yōu)樗麘z惜，他們?yōu)樗y過。但是成年人知道如何過濾這些情緒。我們懂得什么話不能亂說。我們懂得將這些話藏起來。而這個小女孩，則是這套體系的漏洞。

這套體系告訴她，我兒子的輪椅是“讓人難過的”。

這套體系告訴她，他是個“可憐的小家伙”。

這套體系常常采用的詞匯是“局限在”、“罹患”和“被束縛的”。

這套體系喜歡把像我兒子這樣的個體當作受害者、被施舍的對象，以及等待救治的不幸者，而不會將他們視為鄰居、同事、老師和朋友。

這套體系告訴她，我兒子的微笑是出于“不管不顧”，而不是單純因為他也是個孩子，也像她一樣，能夠接觸到人世間的種種樂趣。

比如螢火蟲，比如燭光，比如飛馳，比如穿著白色薄紗裙的小女孩。

于是我愣愣地站在那兒，難受極了，支支吾吾地想找些話來扳回一城。我多么想消除這套仍在學習如何接納我兒子的體系所造成的傷害，但我結(jié)結(jié)巴巴，笨嘴笨舌，只是咕噥一句“這沒啥好可憐的……”便非常挫敗地走開了。仿佛這個小女孩代表全世界發(fā)言，而我錯過了澄清事實的機會。

我意識到自己太渺小了。我孤身一人。

到了上星期，我、丈夫以及我家這個引人注目的兒子一起坐在游泳池邊，我再次聽到同樣的話。這次說話的是個年輕人，大概19歲的樣子。他在這里見過我們一家?guī)状瘟恕＝裉焖鸵粋€女孩一起來玩，他喜歡那姑娘，我一眼就看出來了。他用手勢比了比我們這邊。

“那個孩子有點毛病，”他對女孩悄聲說道?！澳憧吹剿募贡硾]？他走不了路，真可憐……”

與其說我聽到了，不如說我感覺到了。我垂下頭，等著那個女孩答話，等著她附和，她必定會贊同這一點——沒錯，我家孩子的人生實在是太可憐了。

“這不可憐，”她這樣說道，用滿懷善意的目光看著我兒子?！拔腋绺鐓⒓舆^特奧會。這一點都不可憐。那小孩真可愛。”

我的心頓時軟得一塌糊涂，連忙閉上眼睛，以免自己當場哭出來。

我真想給她一個擁抱，讓她知道她有多么難能可貴，讓她知道她有多么可愛。我想讓自己相信她曾經(jīng)也是一個穿著白色薄紗裙的小女孩。

最重要的是，我要感謝她讓我明白了，并不是只有我才能看到兒子的本質(zhì)——無拘無束，自由自在，同樣是人。

我孤身一人。

但我并不孤單。