芒果街上的小屋 作者:[美]罗桑德拉·希斯内罗丝-第3章
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我把图书馆借的书带到她家里。我给她读故事。我喜欢《水孩子》 这本书。她也喜欢。我从来不知道她病得有多重，直到那天我想要指给她看书里的一幅画，美丽的画，水孩子在大海中游泳。我把书举到她眼前。我看不到。她说。我瞎了。我心里便很愧疚。
她会听我念给她听的每一本书，每一首诗。一天我读了一首自己写的给她听。我凑得很近。我对着枕头轻轻耳语：
我想成为
海里的浪，风中的云，
但我还只是小小的我。
有一天我要
跳出自己的身躯
我要摇晃天空
像一百把小提琴。
很好。非常好。她用有气无力的声音说。记住你要写下去，埃斯佩朗莎。你一定要写下去。那会让你自由，我说好的，只是那时我还不懂她的意思。
那天我们玩了同样的游戏。我们不知道她要死了。我们装作头往后仰，四肢软弱无力，像死人的一样垂挂着。我们学她的样子笑。学她的样子说话，那种盲人说话的时候不转动头部的样子。我们模仿她必须被人托起头颈才能喝水的样子。她从一个绿色的锡杯里把水慢慢地吮出来喝掉。水是热的，味道像金属。露西笑起来，拉切尔也笑了。我们轮流扮演她。我们像鹦鹉学舌一样，用微弱的声音呼喊托奇过来洗碗。那很容易做到。
可我们不懂。她等待死亡很长时间了。我们忘了。也许她很愧疚。也许她很窘迫：死亡花了这么多年时间。孩子们想要做成孩子，而不是在那里洗碗涮碟，给爸爸熨衬衫。丈夫也想再要一个妻子。
于是她死了。听我念诗的婶婶。
于是我们开始做起了那些梦。
Born Bad
Most likely I will go to hell and most likely I deserve to be there。 My mother says I was born on an evil day and prays for me。 Lucy and Rachel pray too。 For ourselves and for each other。。。 because of what we did to Aunt Lupe。
Her name was Guadalupe and she was pretty like my mother。 Dark。 Good to look at。 In her Joan Crawford dress and swimmer's legs。 Aunt Lupe of the photographs。
But I knew her sick from the disease that would not go； her legs bunched under the yellow sheets； the bones gone Limp as worms。 The yellow pillow； the yellow smell； the bottles and spoons。 Her head thrown back like a thirsty lady。 My aunt； the swimmer。
Hard to imagine her legs once strong； the bones hard and parting water； clean sharp strokes； not bent and wrinkled like a baby； not drowning under the sticky yellow light。 Second…floor rear apartment。 The naked light bulb。 The high ceilings。 The light bulb always burning。
I don't know who decides who deserves to go bad。 There was no evil in her birth。 No wicked curse。 One day I believe she was swimming； and the next day she was sick。 It might have been the day that gray photograph was taken。 It might have been the day she was holding cousin Totchy and baby Frank。 It might have been the moment she pointed to the camera for the kids to look and they wouldn't。
Maybe the sky didn't look the day she fell down。 Maybe God was busy。 It could be true she didn't dive right one day and hurt her spine。 Or maybe the story that she fell very hard from a high step stool； like Totchy said； is true。
But I think diseases have no eyes。 They pick with a dizzy finger anyone； just anyone。 Like my aunt who happened to be walking down the street one day in her Joan Crawford dress； in her funny felt hat with the black feather； cousin Totchy in one hand； baby Frank in the other。
Sometimes you get used to the sick and sometimes the sickness； if it is there too long； gets to seem normal。 This is how it was with her； and maybe this is why we chose her。
It was a game； that's all。 It was the game we played every afternoon ever since that day one of us invented it。 I can't remember who。 I think it was me。 You had to pick somebody。
You had to think of someone everybody knew。 Someone you could imitate and everyone else would have to guess who it was。 It started out with famous people： Wonder Woman； the Beatles； Marilyn Monroe。。。 But then somebody thought it'd be better if we changed the game a little； if we pretended we were Mr。 Benny； or his wife Blanca； or Ruthie； or anybody we knew。
I don't know why we picked her。 Maybe we were bored that day。 Maybe we got tired。 We liked my aunt。 She listened to our stories。 She always asked us to e back。 Lucy； me； Rachel。 I hated to go there alone。 The six blocks to the dark apartment； second…floor rear building where sunlight never came； and what did it matter？ My aunt was blind by then。 She never saw the dirty dishes in the sink。 She couldn't see the ceilings dusty with flies； the ugly maroon walls； the bottles and sticky spoons。 I can't forget the smell。 Like sticky capsules filled with jelly。 My aunt； a little oyster； a little piece of meat on an open shell for us to look at。 Hello； hello。 As if she had fallen into a well。
I took my library books to her house。 I read her stories。 I liked the book The Water Babies。 She liked it too。 I never knew how sick she was until that day I tried to show her one of the pictures in the book； a beautiful color picture of the water babies swimming in the sea。 I held the book up to her face。 I can't see it； she said； I'm blind。 And then I was ashamed。
She listened to every book； every poem I read her。 one day I read her one of my own。 I came very close。 I whispered it into the pillow：
I want to be
like the waves on the sea；
like the clouds in the wind；
but I'm me。
One day I'll jump
out of my skin。
I'll shake the sky
like a hundred violins。
That's nice。 That's very good； she said in her tired voice。 You just remember to keep writing； Esperanza。 You must keep writing。 It will keep you free； and I said yes； but at that time I didn't know what she meant。
The day we played the game； we didn't know she was going to die。 We pretended with our heads thrown back； our arms limp and useless； dangling like the dead。 We laughed the way she did。 We talked the way she talked； the way blind people talk without moving their head。 We imitated the way you had to lift her head a little so she could drink water； she sucked it up slow out of a green tin cup。 The water was warm and tasted like metal。 Lucy laughed。 Rachel too。 We took turns being her。 We screamed in the weak voice of a parrot for Totchy to e and wash those dishes。 It was easy。
We didn't know。 She had been dying such a long time； we forgot。 Maybe she was ashamed。 Maybe she was embarrassed it took so many years。 The kids who wanted to be kids instead of washing dishes and ironing their papa's shirts； and the husband who wanted a wife again。
And then she died； my aunt who listened to my poems。
And then we began to dream the dreams。
1、上世纪七十年代非常流行的一部由漫画改编的电影《神奇女侠》中的主人公，是美国漫画史上第一位漫画女主角。
2、《水孩子》（The Water Babies），查理·金斯莱（1819～1875）的一部童话经典，讲述小烟囱工汤姆在仙女的帮助下，逃离危险的苦役，去到一处安宁清洁的水下世界，做了个水孩子。后来，经过一连串的奇遇，他习得了各种美德，完成了自己的成长之路，回到陆地，成为一个仁爱正直的人。国内早有周煦良的译本。作者金斯莱是牛津、剑桥的历史学教授，还曾做过维多利亚女王的牧师。学识渊博的他，写出的童话却清新优美，寄寓着对所有稚嫩心灵的爱惜与期望。
《阁楼上的流浪者》
我想要一所山上的房子，像爸爸工作的地方那样的花园房。星期日，爸爸的休息日，我们会去那里。我过去常去。现在不去了。你长大了，就不喜欢和我们一起出去吗？爸爸说。你傲起来了。蕾妮说。我没告诉他们我很羞愧——我们一帮人全都盯着那里的窗户，像饥饿的人。我厌倦了盯着我不能拥有的东西。如果我们赢了彩票……妈妈才开口，我就不要听了。
那些住在山上、睡得靠星星如此近的人，他们忘记了我们这些住在地面上的人。他们根本不朝下看，除非为了体会住在山上的心满意足。上星期的垃圾，对老鼠的恐惧，这些与他们无关。夜晚来临，没什么惊扰他们的梦，除了风。
有一天我要拥有自己的房子，可我不会忘记我是谁我从哪里来。路过的流浪者会问，我可以进来吗？我会把他们领上阁楼，请他们住下来，因为我知道没有房子的滋味。
有些日子里，晚饭后，我和朋友们坐在火旁。楼上的地板吱呀吱呀响。阁楼上有咕咕哝哝的声音。
是老鼠吗？他们会问。
是流浪者。我会回答说。我很开心。
Bums in the Attic
I want a house on a hill like the ones with the gardens where Papa works。 We go on Sundays； Papa's day off。 I used to go。 I don't anymore。 You don't like to go out with us； Papa says。 Getting too old？ Getting too stuck…up； says Nenny。 I don't tell them I am ashamedall of us staring out the window like the hungry。 I am tired of looking at what we can't have。 When we win the lottery。。。Mama begins； and then I stop listening。
People who live on hills sleep so close to the s
