《宣叙调》一

第一次读到托尼·莫里森的文章，是在大学时代买的那本已经发黄的《英美文学选读》里，便是这篇《宣叙调》。读原著对我来说还是很吃力的，但幸好这篇文章不长，所以还是勉力读了下来。我只能说作家也可以是以小见大的，这篇短文给了我很多不一样的感受，我喜欢托尼·莫里森的风格，所以就把这篇文章翻译了下来，本来投到《译林》，希望更多人能看到这篇文章。但是《译林》以《欧美文学选读》过于普遍为由婉拒了我的稿子，后来便没有再投，因此就放在了旧纸堆中，今日又偶然拿了出来，觉得自己并不是为了那几个稿费而翻的，让它留在那里着实可惜了，想了想就发在这个喜欢托尼·莫里森的小组里吧，和大家一起分享这篇精美的短文。当然，自己的英语水平也有限，若有翻译不确的地方，就敬请原谅了。鉴于篇幅有限，我就分开发吧。 Toni Morrison Recitatif My mother danced all night and Roberta's was sick. That's why we were taken to St. Bonny's. People want to put their arms around you when you tell them you were in a shelter, but it really wasn't bad. No big long room with one hundred beds like Bellevue. There were four to a room, and when Roberta and me came, there was a shortage of state kids, so we were the only ones assigned to 406 and could go from bed to bed if we wanted to. And we wanted to, too. We changed beds every night and for the whole four months we were there we never picked one out as our own permanent bed. It didn't start out that way. The minute I walked in and the Big Bozo introduced us, I got sick to my stomach. It was one thing to be taken out of your own bed early in the morning-it was something else to be stuck in a strange place with a girl from a whole other race. And Mary, that's my mother, she was right. Every now and then she would stop dancing long enough to tell me something important and one of the things she said was that they never washed their hair and they smelled funny. Roberta sure did. Smell funny, I mean. So when the Big Bozo (nobody ever called her Mrs. Itkin, just like nobody every said St. Bonaventure)-when she said, "Twyla, this is Roberta. Roberta, this is Twyla. Make each other welcome." I said, "My mother won't like you putting me in here." "Good," said Bozo. "Maybe then she'll come and take you home." How's that for mean? If Roberta had laughed I would have killed her, but she didn't. She just walked over to the window and stood with her back to us." Turn around," said the Bozo. "Don't be rude. Now Twyla. Roberta. When you hear a loudbuzzer, that's the call for dinner. Come down to the first floor. Any fights and no movie." And then, just to make sure we knew what we would be missing, "The Wizard of Oz. "Roberta must have thought I meant that my mother would be mad about my being put in the shelter. Not about rooming with her, because as soon as Bozo left she came over to me and said, "Is your mother sick too?" "No," I said. "She just likes to dance all night." "Oh," she nodded her head and I liked the way she understood things so fast. So for the moment it didn't matter that we looked like salt and pepper standing there and that's what the other kids called us sometimes. We were eight years old and got F's all the time. Me because I couldn't remember what I read or what the teacher said. And Roberta because she couldn't read at all and didn't even listen to the teacher. She wasn't good at anything except jacks, at which she was a killer: pow scoop pow scoop pow scoop. We didn't like each other all that much at first, but nobody else wanted to play with us because we weren't real orphans with beautiful dead parents in the sky. We were dumped. Even the New York City Puerto Ricans and the upstate Indians ignored us. All kinds of kids were in there, black ones, white ones, even two Koreans. The food was good, though. At least I thought so. Roberta hated it and left whole pieces of things on her plate: Spam, Salisbury steak-even jello with fruit cocktail in it, and she didn't care if I ate what she wouldn't. Mary's idea of supper was popcorn and a can of Yoo-Hoo. Hot mashed potatoes and two weenies was like Thanksgiving for me. It really wasn't bad, St. Bonny's. The big girls on the second floor pushed us around now and then. But that was all. They wore lipstick and eyebrow pencil and wobbled their knees while they watched TV. Fifteen, sixteen, even, some of them were. They were put-out girls, scared runaways most of them. Poor little girls who fought their uncles off but looked tough to us, and mean. Goddid they look mean. The staff tried to keep them separate from the younger children, but sometimes they caught us watching them in the orchard where they played radios and danced with each other. They'd light out after us and pull our hair or twist our arms. We were scared of them, Roberta and me, but neither of us wanted the other one to know it. So we got a good list of dirty names we could shout back when we ran from them through the orchard. I used to dream a lot and almost always the orchard was there. Two acres, four maybe, of these little apple trees. Hundreds of them. Empty and crooked like beggar women when I first came to St. Bonny's but fat with flowers when I left. I don't know why I dreamt about that orchard so much. Nothing really happened there. Nothing all that important, I mean. Just the big girls dancing and playing the radio. Roberta and me watching. Maggie fell down there once. The kitchen woman with legs like parentheses. And the big girls laughed at her. We should have helped her up, I know, but we were scared of those girls with lipstick and eyebrow pencil. Maggie couldn't talk. The kids said she had her tongue cut out, but I think she was just born that way: mute. She was old and sandy-colored and she worked in the kitchen. I don't know if she was nice or not. I just remember her legs like parentheses and how she rocked when she walked. She worked from early in the morning till two o'clock, and if she was late, if she had too much cleaning and didn't get out till two-fifteen or so, she'd cut through the orchard so she wouldn't miss her bus and have to wait another hour. She wore this really stupid little hat-a kid's hat with ear flaps-and she wasn't much taller than we were. A really awful little hat. Even for a mute, it was dumb-dressing like a kid and never saying anything at all." But what about if somebody tries to kill her?" I used to wonder about that. "Or what if she wants to cry? Can she cry?" "Sure," Roberta said. "But just tears. No sounds come out." "She can't scream?" "Nope. Nothing." "Can she hear?" "I guess." "Let's call her," I said. And we did. "Dummy! Dummy!" She never turned her head "Bow legs! Bow legs!" Nothing. She just rocked on, the chin straps of her baby-boy hat swaying from side to side. I think we were wrong. I think she could hear and didn't let on. And it shames me even now to think there was somebody in there after all who heard us call her those names and couldn't tell on us. We got along all right, Roberta and me. Changed beds every night, got F's in civics and communication skills and gym. The Bozo was disappointed in us, she said. Out of 130 of us statecases, 90 were under twelve. Almost all were real orphans with beautiful dead parents in the sky. We were the only ones dumped and the only ones with F's in three classes including gym. So we got along-what with her leaving whole pieces of things on her plate and being nice about no tasking questions. I think it was the day before Maggie fell down that we found out our mothers were coming to visit us on the same Sunday. We had been at the shelter twenty-eight days (Roberta twenty-eight and a half) and this was their first visit with us. Our mothers would come at ten o'clock in time for chapel, then lunch with us in the teachers' lounge. I thought if my dancing mother met her sick mother it might be good for her. And Roberta thought her sick mother would get a big bang out of a dancing one. We got excited about it and curled each other's hair. After breakfast we sat on the bed watching the road from the window. Roberta's socks were still wet. She washed them the night before and put them on the radiator to dry. They hadn't, but she put them on anyway because their tops were so pretty- scalloped in pink. Each of us had a purple construction-paper basket that we had made in craft class. Mine had a yellow crayon rabbit on it. Roberta's had eggs with wiggly lines of color. Inside were cellophane grass and just the jelly beans because I'd eaten the two marshmallow eggs they gave us. The Big Bozo came herself to get us. Smiling she told us we looked very nice and to come downstairs. We were so surprised by the smile we'd never seen before, neither of us moved. "Don't you want to see your mommies?" I stood up first and spilled the jelly beans all over the floor. Bozo's smile disappeared while we scrambled to get the candy up off the floor and put it back in the grass. She escorted us downstairs to the first floor, where the other girls were lining up to file into the chapel. A bunch of grown-ups stood to one side. Viewers mostly. The old biddies who wanted servants and the fags who wanted company looking for children they might want to adopt. Once in a while a grandmother. Almost never anybody young or anybody whose face wouldn't scare you in the night. Because if any of the real orphans had young relatives they wouldn't be real orphans. I saw Mary right away. She had on those green slacks I hated and hated even more now because didn't she know we were going to chapel? And that fur jacket with the pocket linings so ripped she had to pull to get her hands out of them. But her face was pretty-like always, and she smiled and waved like she was the little girl looking for her mother- not me. I walked slowly, trying not to drop the jelly beans and hoping the paper handle would hold. I had to use my last Chiclet because by the time I finished cutting everything out, all the Elmer's was gone. I am left-handed and the scissors never worked for me. It didn't matter, though; I might just as well have chewed the gum. Mary dropped to her knees and grabbed me, mashing the basket, the jelly beans, and the grass into her ratty fur jacket. "Twyla, baby. Twyla, baby!" I could have killed her. Already I heard the big girls in the orchard the next time saying, "Twyyyyyla, baby!" But I couldn't stay mad at Mary while she was smiling and hugging me and smelling of Lady Esther dusting powder. I wanted to stay buried in her fur all day. To tell the truth I forgot about Roberta. Mary and I got in line for the traipse into chapel and I was feeling proud because she looked so beautiful even in those ugly green slacks that made her behind stick out. A pretty mother on earth is better than a beautiful dead one in the sky even if she did leave you all alone to go dancing. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned, and saw Roberta smiling. I smiled back, but not too much lest somebody think this visit was the biggest thing that ever happened in my life. Then Roberta said, "Mother, I want you to meet my roommate, Twyla. And that's Twyla's mother." I looked up it seemed for miles. She was big. Bigger than any man and on her chest was the biggest cross I'd ever seen. I swear it was six inches long each way. And in the crook of her arm was the biggest Bible ever made. Mary, simple-minded as ever, grinned and tried to yank her hand out of the pocket with the raggedy lining-to shake hands, I guess. Roberta's mother looked down at me and then looked down at Mary too. She didn't say anything, just grabbed Roberta with her Bible-free hand and stepped tout of line, walking quickly to the rear of it. Mary was still grinning because she's not too swift when it comes to what's really going on. Then this light bulb goes off in her head and she says "That bitch!" really loud and us almost in the chapel now. Organ music whining; the Bonny Angels singing sweetly. Everybody in the world turned around to look. And Mary would have kept it up-kept calling names if I hadn't squeezed her hand as hard as I could. That helped a little, but she still twitched and crossed and uncrossed her legs all through service. Even groaned a couple of times. Why did I think she would come there and act right? Slacks. No hat like the grandmothers and viewers, and groaning all the while. When we stood for hymns she kept her mouth shut. Wouldn't even look at the words on the page. She actually reached in her purse for a mirror to check her lipstick. All I could think of was that she really needed to be killed. The sermon lasted a year, and I knew the real orphans were looking smug again. We were supposed to have lunch in the teachers' lounge, but Mary didn't bring anything, so we picked fur and cellophane grass off the mashed jelly beans and ate them. I could have killed her. I sneaked a look at Roberta. Her mother had brought chicken legs and ham sandwiches and oranges and a whole box of chocolate-covered grahams. Roberta drank milk from a thermos while her mother read the Bible to her. 托妮·莫里森 宣叙调[宣叙调（意大利语：Recitativo），又译朗诵调，原指歌剧、清唱剧、康塔塔等大型声乐中类似朗诵的曲调，速度自由，旋律与节奏是依照言语自然的强弱，形成简单的朗诵或说话似的曲调，换言之是以歌唱方式说话。与咏叹调比较，宣叙调着重叙事，音乐只是附属性质。宣叙调差不多是与歌剧同时出现的声乐形式，常于咏叹调之前，具有"引子"的作用。宣叙调必须依附于歌剧情节，无法拿出来单独演唱。] 我母亲总是整晚跳舞而罗伯塔的母亲生病了，这就是我们被带到圣伯尼慈善学校的原因。在那里当你躲躲闪闪想要避开大家的目光的时候，总有些人想把他的手靠在你的肩膀跟你搭讪，但这并不算坏。不大的房子里堆放着一百张床，简直就像来到了贝尔维尤医院一样[ 贝尔维尤医院在纽约市，其精神病科病房尤为著名。]。每间房里有4张床，当罗伯塔和我刚来的时候，“正式”居住在这里的孩子已经少了很多，所以我和罗伯塔可以单独享用一间房——406，而且可以随意睡自己喜欢的床。我们也的确是这样做的，我们几乎每天都换床，4个月来我们没让出过一张床，就好像它们都是我们自己的床一样。 但我们最初的相识却没有这样随意，而我刚踏进那个陌生的地方的时候“大波卓”[bozo美语里有笨蛋的意思。]就向我们各自作了介绍。我的胃犯了病，这就是一大早我就被带出了自己的房间的原因，我被带进了一个陌生的地方和一个其他种族的完全陌生的女孩呆在一起。我的母亲很健康，有时候她跳舞跳累了也会坐下来给我谈些她觉得重要的事情，她曾跟我提到那些从来不洗头发的人，并把他们称作“闻起来有趣”的人。罗伯塔就是这样的人，我的意思是“闻起来有趣”的人。所以当“大波卓”（没人称呼她伊特金太太，就像没人会一本正经地称呼圣伯尼为圣博纳旺蒂尔一样）——当她说：“特怀拉，这是罗伯塔；罗伯塔，这是特怀拉，互相欢迎一下吧。”而我对她说：“我母亲不会喜欢你把我留在这儿。” “很好，”波卓说，“也许她过一会儿就会过来接你回家。” 她这是什么意思！如果罗伯塔也这样讥讽嘲笑我，我肯定会杀了她，但是她没有，她只是静静地走到窗户边，背对着我们站着。 “转过来，别这样无礼。”波卓说道，“现在特怀拉，罗伯塔，听好，当你们听到蜂鸣声的时候，那是提醒你们吃晚餐的铃声，所以请到一楼来准备吃晚饭，而且不能打架——不然就不能看电影，”接着，像是提醒我们不要忽略了重点，她强调道，“晚上的电影是《绿野仙踪》。” 罗伯塔一定认为我的意思是我的母亲一定会因为我被“遗弃”在这座大“监狱”里而不是因为和她共享一个房间而发疯的，因此等波卓一走她就走过来问我：“你的母亲也生病了吗？” “没有，她只是喜欢整夜整夜地跳舞。”我回答道。 “哦。”她点了点头，我很高兴她能明白的这么快。其实有时候当我们被其他孩子唤作“盐椒混合物”（我是白人，而罗伯塔是黑人）的时候我们并不介意，我们都在8岁的年龄而且成绩也总是处在“F”[ F相当于不及格。]的水平。我的成绩不好是因为我老是记不住老师教的东西，但罗伯塔却是一点都不读书而且也不听老师说的话，她会玩“杰克斯”[一种纸牌游戏。]，而且称得上是个“八卦天王”，其它的方面你只能称她一无是处。 开始的时候我们并不十分喜欢对方，但是其他的孩子都不愿意跟我们一起玩，因为我们不是真正的孤儿，我们的父母没有天使的翅膀能使他们在天空中自由地翱翔。我们很失落，连那些来自波多黎各和印度的小孩都不理我们。白人、黑人、甚至有两个韩国孩子，不同种族，不同肤色的小孩儿都生活在这里。尽管这里的生活并不算顺利，但是食物还算好吃，至少我是这么认为的，但罗伯塔并不这样想，她讨厌这儿的食物而且也总吃不完，留下很多盘子里：像“斯潘”[Spam，一种品牌]午餐肉，索尔兹伯里[Salisbury，地名。]牛肉饼——甚至连什锦水果冰激凌她都不吃。她也并不在意我吃她的那些东西。我的母亲玛丽关于午餐的概念只是一些爆米花和一罐“呦呵”[ Yoo-Hoo，一种巧克力软饮料的品牌。]饮料，而只要有一些热土豆泥和熏肉香肠，对我来说就像过感恩节一样了。 生活在圣伯尼慈善学校并不算太坏，除了有时候二楼的大女孩们会欺负我们一下以外，我们大部分时间都过得很安宁。那些大女孩儿们经常涂着很浓重的口红，画着眉线，看电视的时候摇晃着她们的大腿，没什么漂亮雅观可言。她们里面十五六岁，甚至更大的都有，大部分都是被遗弃的，而且非常恐惧逃跑这种事。那些把自己叔父辈一样的人打得落花流水的又穷又小的女孩在我们看来真是既粗暴又讨厌，真的，真是讨厌极了！管理人员试图把她们和年龄小孩子们隔开，但当她们在花园里听广播和跳舞看见我们的时候，她们就会跟着我们，任意地扯着我们的头发，拉着我们的手臂，罗伯塔和我很怕她们，但我们都不想让别人知道这件事情。我们不能甘心吃亏，所以我们列了一份名单，上面尽是些肮脏恶毒的名字，等我们快速地跑过花园的时候，我们就可以大声地把它们念出来，好好地嘲弄她们一番。那时候我常常做关于那个花园的梦，梦到花园里有两英亩，也可能是四英亩的苹果树林，里面有数以百计的苹果树。我刚来时它们就像一个个空壳的、肮脏的、瘦弱的女乞丐，而当我走时它们已经变得挺拔健硕而且挂满盛开的鲜花，我不明白我为什么会做这么多关于那个果园的梦，其实那儿什么都没有发生过——我的意思是没有发生过重要的事情，只有那些大女孩儿们经常在那儿唱歌和听广播，而我和罗伯塔则只是静静地看着。玛吉有一次在花园里摔倒了，这个厨房佣妇简直就像一个大妈一样，所以那些大女孩们经常嘲笑她。我知道我们本应该帮她一下，但看到那些涂着口红、画着眉线的“狰狞”的脸，我们的勇气马上就消失了。玛吉不能够说话，一些人说这是她的舌头被割掉的缘故，但我想这是她天生的残缺。她年龄挺大，拥有那种沙色的皮肤，在厨房里工作，我不记得她的样貌漂亮与否，但我记得她劳动妇女般壮硕的大腿和走起路来摇摇晃晃的样子。她起早忙黑，经常要工作到凌晨2点钟，而且如果她迟到，或是做了太多的打扫工作或者其它什么事以至于在两点钟一刻之前不能离开厨房，她就得再修剪果园，这样她就不会错过一个小时后的另一班巴士了。她喜欢戴着一种“傻瓜帽”——童帽还挂着两个耳套——或许是为了显示高度，但她一点也不比我们高多少，这真是一件傻极了的帽子，即使她是哑巴，我们也没有因为同情心而假装接受它，想想这是一件多么尴尬的事吧——打扮得像个孩子却一句话也说不出来。 “如果有人要杀她，她要怎么呼救呢？或是她想要哭，她要怎么做呢？她能哭吗？”我过去常常这样怀疑地问道。 “当然能，但是只有眼泪，没有声音。”罗伯塔回答说。 “她不能叫喊吧？” “当然不能，什么声音都没有！” “那她能听到我们说的话吗？” “我想想·····” “让我们叫叫她试试看。”我这样说，我们也的确这样做了。 “哑巴！哑巴！”但是她头也不回。 “罗圈腿！罗圈腿！”仍然没有反应，她仍然摇摇晃晃地摇动着身体，被“傻瓜帽”的吊带环绕着的下巴也在来来回回地摆动。我意识到我们错了，她能听到，只是没有给出任何反应，甚至到现在我仍然感到很羞愧，就好像有人在旁边听到了我们说的话却没有提醒我们我们做得不对一样。 我和罗伯塔相处得很好，几乎每晚都换床睡，同样在公民学[关于公民权利与义务的课程]、交际能力和体育的测试中得了F，波卓对我们说过她对我们很失望。在130个左右的“常住人口”中，有90个是不到12岁的，而这些“常住人口”几乎全都是父母上了天堂的孤儿，只有我和罗伯塔是被暂时寄养在这里的，我们也是三个班中唯一门门功课都很差劲，甚至连体育都得了F的人，所以我们只有老老实实地，等大波卓吃完以后好好收拾她留下的餐碟，而且乖乖地诸事莫问。 我想是玛吉在花园里摔倒的前一天的星期天，罗伯塔和我的母亲终于到这儿来看我们了。我们已经在这座“监狱”里呆了28天了（罗伯塔28天半），这是她们第一次来看望我们。她们那天是准备10点钟去教堂作礼拜的，先来看我们，中午的时候我们再一起在教师休息室吃午饭。我想让我那位执着于跳舞的母亲见见罗伯塔那位生病的母亲是一件对她颇有益处的事，罗伯塔也认为那对她的的母亲一定很有帮助。我们高兴地又蹦又跳，玩弄着各自的头发。在早餐过后我们就呆在窗户旁边，一直注视着外面的大马路。罗伯塔那双湿漉漉的袜子还晾在暖气炉上没有干，她昨晚趁夜洗了袜子，因为那双拥有粉红色扇形边脚尖的袜子非常漂亮，她很想她母亲来的时候她能够穿出来。我们都有一个在工艺课上制作的紫色的纸篮子，我的篮子上画了只彩色的小兔子，罗伯塔的是一些鸡蛋附带着弯弯曲曲五颜六色的线条，我的篮子里只剩下草形的玻璃纸和一些豆子果胶，那里面的两只鸡蛋棉花糖早就被我吃掉了。大波卓上来探看我们，她笑着称赞我们今天看起来很漂亮，又叫我们下楼去，那“灿烂”的笑容真叫我们惊奇，但我们都没有响应她的“号召”。 “难道你们不想见到你们的母亲吗？” 我先站了起来，但是不小心把篮子碰翻在地，豆子果胶撒了一地，波卓脸上的笑容立刻就消失了，我们只得跪在地上收拾，直到捡完最后一颗为止。 波卓护送着我们下了楼，屋子里很安静，因为其他的孩子都去了教堂。有一群成年人站在屋内的一边，大部分都是“访客”，就是那类中年妇女想要个小仆人，或是男工人想要找个小伴侣，他们就会到这儿来看一下有没有自己想要领养的孩子。曾有个奶奶也来过，孩子们在前一天晚上都害怕极了，因为如果被领养了，那她就有了一个“亲人”，她就不再是个孤儿，这样一来自由和熟悉的生活就从此远去了。不经意间我发现了玛丽，她穿的吊儿郎当的，我很讨厌她那个样子，要是平常我肯定没有现在这么恼恨，难道她不知道我们要去教堂吗！她穿的那件皮夹克的口袋都掉落了，她只得把手垂在外面，但他的脸还是看上去像往常一样美丽。她微笑着，在人群中到处游荡，像个急切地寻找自己母亲的小女孩——不是像我。 我慢慢地走着，努力不让那些豆子果胶落下来而且希望着那用纸做的手柄能够坚持得更久一些，在我想暂时摒弃这里的一切之前我还得吃一个口香糖，因为埃尔默的都吃光了（我也害怕她会朝我要）。我是个左撇子，所以剪刀跟我成了一对仇敌，但那没关系，我还可以嚼我喜爱的口香糖。玛丽跪下来抓住了我，不小心弄坏了我的篮子，里面的豆子果胶和玻璃纸掉出来，黏在了她的印着老鼠图案的皮夹克上。 “特怀拉，宝贝！特怀拉，宝贝！” 我真该杀了她！接着我又听见那些大女孩在果园里故意作怪：“怀特——拉，宝贝！” 但我不能把我的抓狂发泄在玛丽身上，她对着我微笑，和我拥抱，我忍受着艾斯特女士的扑粉，当时我真想把自己藏进玛丽的皮夹克里。 说真的当时我倒忘记了罗伯塔，我和玛丽一起走进了教堂，我感到很骄傲，因为玛丽看起来棒极了，即使穿了那丑陋的吸引眼球的绿色便裤。我想再怎么样，一个活着的母亲总比生活在天堂中的强，纵然她丢下你一个人跑去跳舞。 我感觉到有人轻轻扣拍着我的肩膀，我转过身，原来是罗伯塔，她正对着我微笑，我也微笑以应，但还没有夸张到这是我生命中最重要的际遇的地步，接着罗伯塔对她的母亲说：“妈妈，我想让你见见我的室友特怀拉，还有她的母亲。” 她的母亲脸上呈现出慈祥的笑容，她很胖，甚至比我见过的任何一个男人都要胖，而且她胸前佩戴的十字架也是我见过的最大的，我发誓它的每一边都起码有六英寸长，而她手上拿着的也是我见过的最大的《圣经》。玛丽的大脑还是像以前那么简单，她咧着嘴嘻嘻地傻笑，又把她的手从破烂的内衣口袋里抽出来，我猜她是要准备握手。罗伯塔的母亲往下看了看我，又看了看玛丽，并没有说什么，只是抓起罗伯塔空余的手飞快地退到了回去，玛丽仍然咧着嘴傻傻地笑着，因为她对对所发生的事感到措不及防，接着，好像她脑中闪亮的灯泡突然熄灭了一般，她喊了一声：“婊子！”声音大得整个教堂的人都听见了，管风琴的声音骤然响起，伯尼合唱团的小天使们的声音甜美而动听，每个人都扭过头去查看刚刚所发生的一切，但要不是我尽最大的努力挤压玛丽的手臂，玛丽恐怕会这样一直吵吵嚷嚷下去。虽然我的努力起了一些作用，但她却仍时不时地抬抬腿或者反复的交叉双腿，甚至有意地哼唱、呻吟几声，来表示她的“不满”。我怎么会想当然地以为她来到这儿以后会表现得大方得体些呢？真是愚蠢透顶！她没有像其他祖母辈的老人和来访者那样戴着上教堂的帽子，而且总是以她的怪调哼吟着，直到我们开始唱赞美诗了她才闭了嘴，她甚至都不看一眼纸上的赞美诗，只是从口袋里摸出了一面镜子来查看一下她的口红。当时我所有的念头都集中到了一点——她真应该被什么人给杀了！这样的布道仿佛持续了整整一年，而我能体会到的是那些真正的孤儿们又开始自以为是起来。 我们应该在教师休息室里吃我们的午餐，但是玛丽却没有带任何午餐来，我们只有把我带的豆子果胶的玻璃纸撕开然后吃掉了它们，我真该自己动手杀了她。我偷偷瞄了一眼罗伯塔，她的母亲给她带来了鸡腿、火腿三明治和橙子，还有一整盒表面覆盖着巧克力的全麦面粉蛋糕，她从热水瓶里倒着牛奶喝而她的母亲正给她念着《圣经》。