【时间旅行者的妻子】92

 I run my hands over her hair and come away with a small handful of snow that melts immediately.
　“What’s wrong?” Clare takes in the untouched food, my uncheerful demeanor 1. “You’re sulking because there’s no mayo?”
　“Hey. Hush 2.” I sit down on the broken old La-Z-Boy and Clare squeezes in beside me. I put my arm around her shoulders. She puts her hand on my inner thigh 3. I remove it, and hold it. Her hand is cold. “Have I ever told you about my mom?”
　“No.” Clare is all ears; she’s always eager for any bits of autobiography 4 I let drop. As the dates on the List grow few and our two years of separation loom 5 large, Clare is secretly convinced she can find me in real time if I would only dole 6 out a few facts. Of course, she can’t, because I won’t, and she doesn’t.
　We each eat a cookie. “Okay. Once upon a time, I had a mom. I had a dad, too, and they were very deeply in love. And they had me. And we were all pretty happy. And both of them were really terrific at their jobs, and my mother, especially, was great at what she did, and we used to travel all over, seeing the hotel rooms of the world. So it was almost Christmas—”
　“What year?”
　“The year I was six. It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and my dad was in Vienna because we were going to move there soon and he was finding us an apartment. So the idea was that Dad would fly into the airport and Mom and I would drive out and pick him up and we would all continue on to Grandma’s house for the holidays.
　“It was a gray, snowy morning and the streets were covered in sheets of ice that hadn’t been salted yet. Mom was a nervous driver. She hated expressways, hated driving to the airport, and had only agreed to do this because it made a lot of sense. We got up early, and she packed the car. I was wearing a winter coat, a knit hat, boots, jeans, a pullover sweater, underwear, wool socks that were kind of tight, and mittens 7. She was dressed entirely 8 in black, which was more unusual then than it is now.”
　Clare drinks some of the milk directly from the carton. She leaves a cinnamon-colored lipstick 9 print. “What kind of car?”
　“It was a white ‘62 Ford 10 Fairlane.”
 

妈妈连去干洗店都要画口红、眼线、胭脂和眉毛，爸爸则是一如往昔的高大清瘦，爱穿休闲服，爱戴帽子。惟一有区别的是他的脸，那是一脸的满足。他们时常互相靠着，手拉手一同漫步。海滩上，我们三个人戴着同一系列的墨镜，我还顶着一只可笑的蓝帽子。我们涂上防晒油，躺在太阳下面。我们喝着朗姆酒、可乐，还有夏威夷甜酒。
　　妈妈的幸运星正冉冉升起，她师从贾汗·梅可、玛丽·德拉克洛瓦等等先辈，在她们细心的引领下沿着成名的道路不断前进；她演了一系列独具光芒的小角色，在抒情歌剧院演出时引起了路易·比海尔的注意，她在《阿依达》里为琳娜·魏沃莱做替角，随后又被选中主演《卡门》。其他公司也注意到了她，不久我们便开始周游世界。她为福茂录制了舒伯特，为百代录制了威尔第和魏尔⑥魏尔（Kurt Weill），德国当代作曲家。的作品。我们去伦敦，去巴黎，去柏林，去纽约。现在还留在我记忆里的就是永无止境的酒店和飞机。电视里转播了她在林肯中心的演出，我是和外公外婆一起在曼西看的，当时我六岁，瞪着黑白的小屏幕，我简直不敢相信那就是妈妈，她当时正主演《蝴蝶夫人》。
　　歌剧院六九年至七九年的巡回演出结束后，他们打算搬去维也纳。爸爸要参加维也纳爱乐乐团的团员甄选工作。只要电话铃一响，不是妈妈的经纪人艾什叔叔，便是某个唱片公司的人。
　　我听见通往地下室台阶的门开了，又“砰”地关上，随后是缓慢下楼的脚步声。克莱尔轻声敲了四下门，我挪开把手下的椅子，她头发上还有些雪花，脸颊红扑扑的。她已经十七岁了。克莱尔张开双臂冲过来，激动地抱紧我，“圣诞快乐，亨利！”她说，“你能来这里太棒了！”我亲了亲她的脸颊。她的欢乐和活力驱散了低落的情绪，不过那种伤感和失落并没走远。我把手指伸进她的发间，抽出时，沾上了一些雪花，不过一下子就融化了。
　　“怎么了？”克莱尔注意到我还没碰过食物，和我无精打采的沉默，“是因为没有蛋黄酱吗？”
　　“嗨，别做声。”我坐在一把破旧的懒人椅上，克莱尔硬是挤到我旁边。我搂着她的肩，她却把手放在我的大腿里。我移开她的手，把它握在手心里，她的手冰凉。“我和你说过我妈妈的事么？”
　　“没有，”克莱尔一下子全神贯注起来，她总是渴望了解任何和我家庭有关的事情。随着日期表上的日子越来越少，我们不久就要进入那段两年不见的时间了。克莱尔暗自确信，只要我透露一点点细节，她就一定能在现实中找到我。当然，她做不到，因为我不愿意说，而她也无从寻找。
　　我们每人吃了一块曲奇饼，“嗯，很久以前，我的妈妈，当然还有爸爸，他们深深地相爱，后来有了我，我们非常非常快乐。他们的事业都很成功，尤其是妈妈，非常出色，我们常常一起周游世界，住遍各国的酒店。有一年，圣诞节快到了……”
　　“那是哪一年？”
　　“我六岁那年。那天是圣诞夜的早晨，爸爸在维也纳，因为不久我们就要搬过去，所以他先帮我们找房子。我们约好，爸爸坐飞机去机场，妈妈开车带我去接他，然后我们三个一起去奶奶家过节。
　　“那个下雪的早晨天色灰灰的，马路上结着冰，还没有撒过盐。妈妈是个焦虑的司机，她痛恨高速路，痛恨开车去机场，除非有很正当的理由，否则她是不会这么做的。我们起得很早，她把东西装进车里。我身上是冬外套，针织绒线帽，皮靴，牛仔裤，羊毛衫，棉衣，有点紧的羊毛袜，还戴了一副手套。妈妈则一身全黑，当时这么穿是很罕见的。”
　　克莱尔直接就着纸盒喝了些牛奶，纸盒口留下一个肉桂色的唇印，“是什么样的汽车？”
　　“是辆六二款的白色福特菲尔兰。”