12岁时的那只小鸟
编者按：
当我从床上滑下的时候，我并没有领悟到父亲的话该是多么地正确。是的，这一生，我会像记住许多其他事情一样，永远牢记我曾射杀了那只小鸟。
The day my father gave me a BB gun was my twelfth birthday，and I almost couldn’t help jumping up and down when I saw what it was．
With a smile，he led me outside and showed me how to shoot――first loading the gun，pumping it a few times，aiming，and，finally，firing．Before handing the gun to me，he in－toned ，“I don’t ever want to see you killing anything．That’ s not why I bought you this gun．”I think he was afraid that I‘ d learn what real power felt like．Whatever．It was okay with me because I figured I‘ d find plenty of other targets．
“Hey，Mike．”I yelled to my friend upon making one of my greatest discoveries．“Check this out．”I aimed at the top of the telephone pole．“What’ re you doing？”he asked．I fired，and the BB smacked1) the top of the pole，causing a loud“DING”to ring out．“Cool．”Mike said．I smiled like the king of the world――a smile that grew even wider when Mike couldn’t hit the same target．The neat thing was that no matter how many times you shot those things they never broke．Then again，maybe that’s why it got boring．
A few months later，I found myself walking down the street，gun in hand，searching for new targets．I stopped by a telephone pole，popping off a few shots with nothing better to do．Suddenly，a bird swooped down and landed on the wire．It was a pigeon，and it cooed and shuffled its footing，completely oblivious to my watchful eye．Here I was，a bored kid，holding a BB gun，and a bird standing right there in front of me――and no one around to tell my dad．It was so perfect，I figured it was a sign from God．I aimed straight at the pigeon2)，held my breath，and squeezed3) slowly upon the trigger．But I hesitated．I was about to kill a bird，a concept that felt at one moment queazy，at another exciting．The exciting part won．
I fired．The bird dropped like a rock，one wing flopping behind as it fell．The bushes obscured4) its impact，but I heard it thump into the dirt．Before lowering the gun，I realized what I’d done ――I‘d killed my first animal．I should’ve ran to my friend Mike’s house and dragged him back to see the dead pigeon．But instead I whispered，“Oh no，”and charged into the brush．My stomach was tied in knots5)，and I prayed，“Oh God，please don’t let it be dead．”The pigeon lay there with blood streaming from its beak，feathers large and small scattered about．I poked it with the gun barrel but it remained still．I reached out and rolled it over，but its head drooped lifelessly to the side．After burying it，I hurried home，stashed my BB gun in the closet and went to hide in my room．
When my dad got home that evening，I forced myself to go downstairs so he wouldn’t think anything was wrong，but，the instant he looked at me，I‘d have sworn he knew．Yet he put an arm around me and said，“Hey son，how was your day？”“Um，okay．”I told him．“That’s all，”he frowned，“just okay？”I could feel my face tingling6)．“Yeah，just okay．”And，trying to make it at least halfway believable，I shrugged7)．He nodded，hand still resting on my shoulder．“Well，”he said，“it’s almost dinner time．Let’ s go set the table．”
I was dead silent as I laid the plates out．I felt as though every time I turned around，Dad was looking at me，but whenever I stole a glance in his direction，he seemed simply to be paying attention to collecting forks and arranging glass．After Dad poured me some milk，I barely uttered a “thank you”as he took his seat．Watching him，I figured if I could just make it through dinner，I‘ d be okay．Mom gave us each a potato and uncovered the main dish in the center of the table．It was chicken．I almost barfed on my plate．I looked at my mom，then at my dad，and，just before bursting into tears8)，I pushed my chair back and ran to my room．I had my head buried in my pillow when I felt Dad rubbing my back．My tears slowly faded9)，and I was able to lift my head．He didn’t say anything，but just rested his hand upon me and waited with a soft look in his eye．
“I．．．”my voice cracked and I cleared my throat．“I shot a bird today．”“Oh？”my father replied，his expression unchanging．“Yeah．It was a pigeon．On the telephone line．I killed it．”Dad paused before asking，“And how did it feel？”“It felt．．．Awful，”I answered and looked down．
“I’ m sure it did．That’s one of the reasons I said you shouldn’t shoot birds．”I glanced at him，“Are you gonna punish me？”
“Hmm，”he replied with his finger on his lips．“You misused your BB gun，and you disobeyed me．What you need is to always remember how bad it felt to kill that poor bird．”I turned my head down again，but he put a finger on my chin and lifted until I met his gaze．
“Somehow，”he told me．“I think you will．”And，slapping me on the rear，he said，“Now lets go get dinner．”
Little did I know as I slid from the bed that my father was right――I would remember killing that bird――along with a lot of other things――the rest of my life．
NOTE 注释：
1. smack [smAk] vt. 打中，击中
2. pigeon [5pidVin] n. 鸽子
3. squeeze [skwi:z] v. 挤压
4. obscure [Eb5skjuE] vt. 使不清楚
5. knot [nCt] n. (绳等的)结
6. tingle [5tiN^l] vi. 造成麻刺的感觉
7. shrug [FrQ^] v. 耸肩
8. burst into tears 突然大哭
9. fade [feid] vi. 减弱下去, 褪色, 消失
父亲送给我气枪的那一天正是我１２岁的生日。看到猎枪的那一时刻，我高兴得差点儿跳了起来。带着微笑，父亲将我领到屋外，告诉我该如何射击—先装上子弹，压几回气，然后瞄准，最后射击。把猎枪递给我之前，父亲一板一眼地说道，“我可不想让你杀害生灵。这可不是我给你买这枝枪的初衷。”我想他是怕我已经知道真正的权力意味着什么。不管怎样，这对我来讲倒也没有什么关系，因为我知道会有许多别的东西可以成为靶子。
“嘿，迈克。”我大声喊着我朋友的名字，发现他我真是喜出望外。“看着点儿。”我举枪瞄向了电话线杆的顶部。“你在干什么？”他问道。我开了一枪，子弹击中了电话线杆的顶部，发出“叮当”一声响。“太棒了。”迈克说道。我像一位世界之王似地笑了。当迈克没能击中同一目标的时候，我笑得越发地得意了。射击这样的目标的好处是不管你打了几枪，目标永不会破损。你便可以一而再、再而三地射击。可也许正是因此，它开始变得乏味了。
几个月之后，我沿着街道走着，手中提着那枝枪，搜寻着新的目标。在一个电话线杆的前面我停下了脚步，百无聊赖地随便地放了几枪。忽然间，一只小鸟轻巧地落在了电线上。那是一只鸽子。它咕咕地叫着并左右不停地移动。这一切都尽收我的眼底。这里的我正无所事事，手中提着一枝气枪，而眼前的不远处则落着一只鸽子。没有人会告诉父亲。太妙了。我心想这肯定是上帝的旨意。于是，我瞄准了那只鸽子，屏住呼吸，慢慢地开始扣动扳机。就在子弹即将出膛的一瞬间，我一下子犹豫了。我就要射杀一只小鸟，这个念头令我感到很不安。然而与此同时，兴奋之情却占据了我的另一半心房。终于后者战胜了前者。
我开了枪。那只鸟像一块石头一样落了下来，坠落中它的一只翅膀还在不停地扑腾着。由于草丛的遮挡，我没有目睹它是如何落地的，但是我却听到了它摔在土里发出的撞击声。枪尚未放下，我便意识到我做了什么—我第一次亲手杀害了一只动物。我本可以跑到朋友迈克家，把他拉去看看那只死鸽子。但是，我想不能这样做，于是暗叫了一声“啊，不”，便一头冲进了树丛。此时我心乱如麻，嘴中祈祷道，“啊，上帝，请不要让它死去。”那只鸽子躺在那里，鲜血从嘴中不停地涌出来，大大小小的羽毛散落一地。我用枪托捅了捅它，但它没有任何动静。我伸手将它翻过身，可它的脑袋却毫无生机地耷拉到了一边。我掩埋了鸽子，匆匆地赶回了家。我悄悄地将气枪藏进衣橱，然后躲到了自己的房间。
当父亲晚上回家时，我强打着精神下了楼，这样他就不会起疑心了。然而当父亲第一眼看到我时，我敢发誓他对所发生的事情已经一清二楚了。他用胳膊搂住我，问道，“儿子，你今天过得咋样呀？”“嗯，还行。”我告诉他。“就这些吗？”我皱了皱眉头，“只是还行吗？”我感到我的脸烧得很。“是呀，就是还行。”我耸了耸肩，至少让他能相信我一半。父亲点了点头，手依然搭在我的肩膀上。“好吧，”他说道，“快要到吃饭的时间了。咱们一起摆桌子去吧。”
我把碟子拿出来摆放时一声未吭。每次转过身，我都似乎感到父亲的目光在盯着我。而每次我偷窥他时，他却又似乎在小心地收叉子、摆酒杯。父亲为我倒了点牛奶，然后坐下，我仅以一句“谢谢”敷衍了过去。望着他，我想如果我能熬过这顿晚饭，便算过关了。母亲为我们每人递上一块土豆，并将餐桌中央的主菜掀开了盖儿。那是一只鸡。我差一点将饭吐到了盘子中。我瞧了一眼母亲，又瞅了瞅父亲。在泪水还没有涌出眼眶之前，我把椅子往后一推，然后跑回了自己的房间。我将头埋在枕头里。这时，我感到父亲正抚摸着我的后背。泪水慢慢地干了。我抬起了头。父亲什么也没有讲，只是把手放在我的身上，用一种温柔的目光期待着我。
“我……，”我讲不下去了，清了清嗓子，说道，“我今天杀死了一只小鸟。”“噢？”父亲哼了一声，而表情却没有任何变化。“是的，那是一只鸽子，落在电话线杆上，我射死了它。”父亲停了一会儿，问道：“那是一种什么样的感受呢？”“很……很不好受。”我答道，低下了头。
“肯定是这样的。这正是我告诉你不要射杀鸟类的原因之一。”我望着他：“你要狠狠地罚我吗？”
“嗯，”他将手指压在嘴唇上答道，“你把你的气枪用在不该用的地方，又不听我的话。你要做的就是永远记住，射杀一只可怜的小鸟之后的感觉是多么糟糕。”我的头又一次垂了下去，可是父亲却用手指托起了我的下巴，直到我的目光与他的相遇。“不管怎样，”他说道，“我想你会记住的。”然后他轻轻地拍了一下我的屁股：“现在咱们一块去吃晚饭吧。”
当我从床上滑下的时候，我并没有领悟到父亲的话该是多么地正确。是的，这一生，我会像记住许多其他事情一样，永远牢记我曾射杀了那只小鸟。
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