The Silent Love of a Father　默默的父愛

The Silent Love of a Father　默默的父愛

◎ Bert Clompus

After Mom died, I began visiting Dad every morning before I went to work. He was frail and moved slowly, but he always had a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the kitchen table for me, along with an unsigned note reading, “Drink your juice.” Such a gesture, I knew, was as far as Dad had ever been able to go in expressing his love. In fact, I remember, as a kid I had questioned Mom, “Why doesn’t Dad love me!” Mom frowned. “Who said he doesn’t love you!”“ Well, he never tells me.” I complained. “He never tells me either,” she said smiling, “but look how hard he works to take care of us, to buy us food and clothes, and to pay for this house. That’s how your father tells us he loves us.” Then Mom held me by the shoulders and asked, “Do you understand!”

媽媽去世之后，我開始在每天上班之前都去探望一下爸爸。他身體虛弱，行走緩慢，但是，他總是為我親手榨好一杯鮮橙汁放在廚房桌子上，旁邊有一張不簽名的紙條，上邊寫著：“把橙汁喝了。”我知道，這是他表達他對我的愛的方式。事實上，至今我還記得，當我還是個孩子的時候，我問過媽媽：“為什么爸爸不愛我？”對此，媽媽皺起了眉頭。“誰說他不愛你？”“可是，他從來沒告訴過我。”我抱怨道。“他從來也沒告訴過我，”她說，臉上露出笑容，“但是，你看他為了照顧我們，給我們買吃的、穿的，支付房款，干活多拼命呀。這就是你爸爸表達他愛我們的方式。”然后，媽媽抓著我的肩膀問道：“你明白了嗎？”

I nodded slowly. I understood in my head, but not in my heart. I still wanted my father to put his arms around me and tell me he loved me. Dad owned and operated a small scrap metal business, and after school I often hung around while he worked. I always hoped he’d ask me to help and then praise me for what I did. He never asked. His tasks were too dangerous for a young boy to attempt, and Mom was already worried enough that he’d hurt himself. Dad hand fed scrap steel into a device that chopped it as cleanly as a butcher chops a rack of ribs. The machine looked like a giant pair of scissors, with blades thicker than my father’s body. If he didn’t feed those terrifying blades just right, he risked serious injury.

我慢慢地點了點頭。我腦子明白，可心里還是不明白。我仍然想要爸爸擁抱我，告訴我他愛我。爸爸擁有并經(jīng)營一家小的廢金屬處理廠。放學后，在他工作時，我經(jīng)常在他身邊玩耍。我總希望他會叫我?guī)兔?，然后稱贊我做的事，可是，他從來不叫我。因為讓一個小男孩去干他干的活實在太危險，媽媽為爸爸的安全已經(jīng)夠擔心的了。爸爸用手把廢金屬塞進一個裝置，這個裝置像屠夫剁肋骨那樣，利索地切割金屬。這臺機器看上去像一把巨大的剪刀，刀片比爸爸的身軀還要厚。伺候這臺令人恐怖的機器太危險了，稍有不慎就會導致重傷。

“Why don’t you hire someone to do that for you?” Mom asked Dad one night as she bent over him and rubbed his aching shoulders with a strong smelling liniment. “Why don’t you hire a cook?” Dad asked, giving her one of his rare smiles. Mom straightened and put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter, Ike? Don’t you like my cooking?” “Sure I like your cooking. But if I could afford a helper, then you could afford a cook.” Dad laughed, and for the first time I realized that my father had a sense of humor. The chopping machine wasn’t the only hazard in his business. He had an acetylene torch for cutting thick steel plates and beams. To my ears the torch hissed louder than a steam locomotive, and when he used it to cut through steel, it blew off thousands of tiny pieces of molten metal that swarmed around him like angry fireflies.

“你為什么不雇一個人來替你干那活？”一天晚上，媽媽為爸爸涂氣味強烈的搽劑，俯身為他按摩酸痛的肩膀時問道。“那你為什么不雇一名廚師？”爸爸反問道，難得地笑了一下。媽媽直起身子，雙手叉在腰上：“?？?，你怎么啦？難道你不喜歡我做的菜？”“我當然喜歡你做的飯菜啦！可是，如果我雇得起幫手，那你就雇得起廚師了呢！”爸爸大笑起來，這是我生平第一次感覺到爸爸的幽默感。不過，那臺切割機不是他工廠里唯一的危險物。他還有一臺乙炔炬，用來切割厚鋼板和粗鋼條。在我聽來，那乙炔炬發(fā)出的切割聲比蒸汽機火車頭發(fā)出的聲音還要大。當他用它切割鋼材時，無數(shù)熔化了的金屬的粉末狀液滴噴射出來，在他周圍飛濺，就像一群憤怒的螢火蟲。

Many years later, during my first daily visit, after drinking the juice my father had squeezed for me, I walked over, hugged him and said, “I love you, Dad.” From then on I did this every morning. My father never told me how he felt about my hugs, and there was never any expression on his face when I gave them. Then one morning, pressed for time, I drank my juice and made for the door.

許多年之后，在我第一次離家前看望爸爸，喝完爸爸親手為我榨的橙汁之后，走過去擁抱著他，說：“爸爸，我愛你。”從那以后，我每天早上都這樣做。可是，爸爸從未告訴過我，我擁抱他時他是什么感受；而且我擁抱時，他臉上從來沒有任何表情。然而，一天早上，由于時間緊迫，我喝完橙汁就向門口走去。

Dad stepped in front of me and asked, “Well!” “Well what?” I asked, knowing exactly what. “Well!” he repeated, crossing his arms and looking everywhere but at me. I hugged him extra hard. Now was the right time to say what I’d always wanted to. “I’m fifty years old, Dad, and you’ve never told me you love me.” My father stepped away from me. He picked up the empty juice glass, washed it and put it away. “You’ve told other people you love me.” I said, “But I’ve never heard it from you.” Dad looked uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. I moved closer to him. “Dad, I want you to tell me you love me.” Dad took a step back, his lips pressed together. He seemed about to speak, and then shook his head. “Tell me!” I shouted. “All right I love you!” Dad finally blurted, his hands fluttering like wounded birds. And in that instant something occurred that I had never seen happen in my life. His eyes glistened, and then overflowed.

爸爸一步跨到我面前，問道：“這個？”“這個什么？”我問道，可我心里一清二楚。“這個？”他又說了一遍，交叉著雙臂東張西望，就是不看我。我格外使勁地抱了抱他?，F(xiàn)在是說出我一直想說的話的最佳時刻了。“爸，我已經(jīng)50歲了，可您從來沒有對我說過您愛我。”父親轉(zhuǎn)身走開了，他拿起那只空杯子，把它洗干凈放在一邊。“您告訴過別人您愛我，”我說，“但是我從沒聽到過。”看上去，爸爸感到不自在，很不自在。我走近他：“爸，我想聽您說您愛我。”他后退了一步，雙唇緊閉。他似乎想要說話，然后又搖搖頭。“告訴我！”我大聲說。“行吧！我愛你！”爸爸終于脫口而出，他的兩只手顫抖得像受傷的小鳥。在那一瞬間，我一生中從未見過的情形發(fā)生了。他的眼中噙著淚珠，最后潸然淚下。

I stood before him, stunned and silent. Finally, after all these years, my heart joined my head in understanding. My father loved me so much that just saying so made him weep, which was something he never, ever wanted to do, least of all in front of family. Mom had been right. Every day of my life Dad had told me how much he loved me by what he did and what he gave. “I know, Da.,” I said. “I know.” And now at last I did.

我站在他面前，震驚得說不出話來。這么多年后，我的心和我的腦子終于都了解到——我了解到我的父親如此愛我，以至于在說出他愛我時，居然流下淚來。以前他從來不會流淚，更不用說在家人面前流淚。媽媽是對的。我生命中的每一天，爸爸都在用行動和付出告訴我他有多愛我。“爸爸，我知道，”我說，“我知道。”現(xiàn)在我終于明白了。

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