秋天的怀念
Fond Memories of Autumn
双腿瘫痪后，我的脾气变得暴怒无常。望着天上北归的雁阵，我会突然把面前的玻璃砸碎;听着听着李谷一甜美的歌声，我会猛的把手边的东西摔向四周的墙壁。母亲就悄悄地躲出去，在我看不见的地方偷偷地听着我的动静。当一切恢复沉寂，她又悄悄地进来，眼边红红的，看着我。
When my legs were first paralyzed, my temper became terrible. Looking at the lines of wild geese flying back north, I would suddenly smash the window pane in front of me. Listening to the sweet songs sung by the famous singer Li Guyi, I would throw whatever happened to be on hand at the wall. On these occasions Mother would steal out quietly, watching me from a place where I could not see her. When I calmed down, she would come back softly and gaze at me with sad eyes.
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“听说北海的花儿都开了，我推着你去走走。”她总是这么说。母亲喜欢花，可自从我的腿瘫痪后，她侍弄的那些花都死了。
“They say that the flowers in Beihai Park are in bloom now. Let me wheel you there,” she used to say. Mother loved flowers dearly, but ever since my legs became paralyzed, all her flowers had died.
“不，我不去!”我狠命地捶打这两条可恨的腿，喊着，“我活着有什么劲!”母亲扑过来抓住我的手，忍住哭声说：“咱娘儿俩在一块儿，好好儿活，好好儿活……”
“No, I won’t go!” I shouted, while beating my cursed legs as hard as I could. “What am I still living for?” Mother would then rush up to me, holding my hands in hers and saying between subdued sobs, “The two of us should live together happily, happily…”
可我却一直都不知道，她的病已经到了那步田地。后来妹妹告诉我，她常常肝疼得整宿翻来覆去地睡不了觉。
Although I did not know it, she had been seriously ill herself all the time. It was my younger sister who told me later that mother had often been kept awake the whole night with pains in the liver.
那天我又独自坐在屋里，看着窗外的树叶唰唰啦啦地飘落。母亲进来了，挡住窗前：“北海的菊花开了，我推着你去看看吧。”她憔悴的脸上现出央求般的神色。“什么时候?”“你要是愿意，就明天?”她说。我的回答已经让她喜出望外了。“好吧，就明天。”我说。她高兴得一会儿坐下，一会站起：“那就赶紧准备准备。”“哎呀，烦不烦?几步路，有什么好准备的!”她也笑了，坐在我身边，絮絮叨叨地说着：“看完菊花，咱们就去‘仿膳’，你小时候最爱吃那儿的豌豆黄儿。还记得那回我带你去北海吗?你偏说那杨树花是毛毛虫，跑着，一脚踩扁一个……”她忽然不说了。对于“跑”和“踩”一类的字眼儿，她比我还敏感。她又悄悄地出去了。
One day I was alone in the room, watching the rustling fall of autumn leaves through the window when Mother came in. She stood between me and the window and said, “The chrysanthemums in Beihai are blossoming. Do let me take you there for a visit.” Her sad eyes in her haggard face silently implored me. “When?” I asked.“Tomorrow, if it suits you,” she replied, pleasantly surprised at my interest.“Okay, tomorrow then,” I agreed. She was so delighted that she did not know whether to sit or to stand.“Let’s get ready right now,” she suggested. “Oh, what a bore! Do we need to get ready for a park just a few steps away?”I said. She burst out laughing herself, sat down beside me and murmured, “After we’ve seen the chrysanthemums, we’ll dine at Fang Shan Restaurant. You used to love their puree of peas best when you were a little boy. Still remember our last tour to Beihai? You insisted that the poplar flowers be worms and ran to stamp on them one by one…” Here she broke off abruptly, more sensitive to words like “run” than I ever was. She went out again gently.
她出去了，就再也没有回来。
Yes, she went out, never to come back.
邻居们把她抬上车时，她还在大口大口地吐着鲜血。我没想到她已经病成那样。看着三轮车远去，她绝没有想到那竟是永远的诀别。
When the neighbors carried her onto the tricycle flatcart, she was still vomiting mouthfuls of blood. I had never thought she could have been so seriously ill. Watching the three-wheeler go, I had not expected it would be her departure to eternity.
邻居的小伙子背着我去看她的时候，她正艰难地呼吸着，像她那一生艰难的生活。别人告诉我，她昏迷前的最后一句话是：“我那个有病的儿子和我那个还未成年的女儿……”
The young man next door carried me on his back to the hospital to see her. She was gasping her last, in just the same way as she had lived her entire hard life. I was told later that her last words before passing away were: “I have an invalid son and an unmarried daughter…”
又是秋天，妹妹推我去北海看了菊花。黄色的花淡雅，白色的花高洁，紫红色的花热烈而深沉，泼泼洒洒，秋风中正开得烂漫。我懂得母亲没有说完的话。妹妹也懂，我俩在一块儿，要好好儿活……
It was another autumn when my sister wheeled me to Beihai park to see the chrysanthemums. The yellow ones were simple and elegant; the white ones, pure and noble; and the purple ones, warm and deep; all were in full bloom, dancing in the autumn breeze. I came to know what mother hadn’t had time to finish, and so did my sister. We should live together happily…
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