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At 22, David was a novelist just starting his career, and I knew if I framed my 2)plight as poetic, he’d find it irresistible, at least on a narrative level. So lying next to him in the dark, I told the story like a Gothic novel.
I started with how, three years earlier, at 19, I realized I couldn’t see the stars at night. This seemed like an innocent enough detail until it turned out to be the first symptom of an incurable 3)degenerative 4)retinal disease. The doctor told me I would slowly lose my eyesight over the next 10 to 15 years―first my nighttime and 5)peripheral vision, and later, my central vision, too.
I ended on a high note: Losing my vision, I explained, was teaching me to really see. I would go blind with a bang, not a whimper, by seeing and doing more in the next decade than most people did in a lifetime.
All true, but only part of the story. The pretty part.
Our romance was still new, and I was nervous about how he would react to my disclosure. His response, though, was as grand and poetic as the story itself.
The next time we met, he wore my name on his arm. Six lowercase letters stained the skin, 6)indelibly. As I admired the tattoo, he told me I had lit his darkness and he would light mine. No matter what came, he said, we would face it together. He was all in.
I met David during our last semester in college, where we were both English and theater majors. I liked that he was smart but not 7)pretentious, funny but never mean. There was solidity to him and it made me feel safe for the first time since my diagnosis.
He was a small-town Southern boy, who had always dreamed of living in California but was never ready to take the plunge―until I took it with him.
In Los Angeles, David helped me with my acting auditions and I edited his manuscripts.
On weekends we lowered the top on his beat-up 8)convertible and drove up the Pacific Coast Highway, music blaring. The golden hills looked like the backs of sleeping lions, we agreed. David drove for hours, one-handed, because the other hand was melded to mine.
Our life together was a grand romance, and my 9)encroaching blindness was more blessing than curse, because it 10)galvanized us to live with urgency. The blindness was poetic because it hadn’t happened yet.
In reality, it’s tedious, draining, messy. It changes you in surprising ways, some positive and some not. It’s a lot like the reality of being married.
Ten years after David had my name tattooed on his arm, our story felt less like a Gothic love story than a Raymond Carver story: doomed in the most 11)quotidian way. Ten years in, on my 33rd birthday, I found myself sobbing alone on a stoop in Brooklyn.
I had quit acting because I could no longer navigate the dark stages and sets. We had moved back to Brooklyn, my hometown, because my driving had become untenable. We had gotten married and had a son, a long, lithe baby with 12)beestung eyes.
I was 13)elated I could discern these details, and just as overjoyed to see the round cheeks and bowed lips of my newborn daughter two years later. I watched the color of their eyes deepen into blue, and seeing these changes 14)suffused me with gratitude. But I was suffused, too, with fear.
The year of our daughter’s birth marked the 10-year anniversary of my diagnosis, and by then I had lost enough sight to be deemed legally blind. My eyesight had closed in like the 15)aperture on a camera, leaving me with extreme tunnel vision.
I constantly 16)collided into people and things: monkey bars, fire hydrants, cabinet doors left ajar. I developed 17)cataracts that made it difficult for me to fill out forms at the pediatrician’s office or, really, read anything at all.
I had been so busy making the most of my vision that I hadn’t prepared myself for losing it. I never spoke of my disease, not even to the few people who knew about it.
My confidence had taken a hit, too. I gave up wearing heels because I fell in them, gave up eyeliner because I couldn’t put it on straight, gave up reading because I couldn’t make out the print. I felt like I wasn’t just losing my sight but essential parts of what made me me.
Because I had no other resources in place for support, the 18)onus fell to David, who became my 19)surreptitious seeing-eye guy. All of that, in addition to the typical strains of raising two young children, was taxing on a marriage.
On my 33rd birthday, David and I splurged on a sitter and planned a dinner out with friends. I spent an hour applying makeup in a magnifying mirror, only to have David observe it was a little, um, uneven. He gifted me an Anne Lamott book I couldn’t read.
On the walk to the restaurant, we reopened the debate about whether or not to have a third child.
I wanted to but was terrified I wouldn’t be able to take care of the baby with my failing vision. David told me he would follow my lead, but he didn’t see how we would possibly make it work. Our resources (money, time, and yes, vision) were already so limited.
Halfway to the restaurant, our discussion developed into an argument, which ended with David storming off and telling me to go to the party without him. I stopped in my tracks, crumpled onto the nearest stoop and sobbed.
I wasn’t helpless. I could find my way home. But I couldn’t go to the party without him. I couldn’t see well enough to find my friends or read the menu. I needed David and he resented it and I resented his resentment.
I remembered how I had told him I would go blind with a bang, not a whimper, and how he had promised we would always be together in darkness and in light. It seemed like we’d both been wrong.
Some minutes later, David’s big brown boots, the ones I always tripped over when he left them by the door, stepped into frame.
“You can’t just leave me,” I said, “I need you.”
“I know,” he said.
“I hate it.”
“So do I.”
Then he took my hand and said we’d figure it out.
Not long after my birthday, I called the New York State Commission for the Blind, which taught me how to use a mobility cane and adaptive technology. I got a magnifier so I didn’t need David to measure the children’s 20)Tylenol or adjust the 21)thermostat. I read the Anne Lamott book, easily enlarged on the e-reader David gave me for Christmas.
I reclaimed many abilities I had lost and started to make peace with what I had to let go.
A year later, David took me to dinner and said he had something to tell me. His face was hazy in the candlelight, but I could see his mouth breaking into a smile.
“I think we should have another baby,” he said.
I blinked. “But what about ―”
David took my hand and cut me off: “We’ll figure it out.”
He spoke with the same certainty that made him tattoo my name on his arm so long ago. His faith bred faith in me. We would have another child, and it would be hard and spectacular, and we would be in it together.
要告訴新男友自己眼睛將會瞎掉,這沒有什么好辦法可言。我從所有的糟糕辦法中選了個最好的。
戴維22歲時剛開始寫小說,我知道如果我以詩意的方式來描繪這個困境,他會被迷住的,至少敘述方式讓他著迷。因此,我在黑暗中躺在他身邊,把我的故事說得像哥特式的小說一樣。
我是這樣開始講述的,三年前,19歲,我發現我晚上看不見星星。這看起來是個很微不足道的細節,但其實是不可治愈的視網膜退化疾病的初始癥狀。醫生說我會在10至15年內逐漸喪失視力――首先是夜間視力和周邊視覺,然后就是中央視覺。
我以積極的態度來結束這個故事:我是這樣描述的,失去視力教會我真正地用眼睛去看。我要在振奮雷鳴中瞎掉,不要在軟弱哭泣中瞎掉,我要在這十年里看更多的東西,比大多數人一生所看的都要多。
那都是真的,但只是故事的一部分,美好的部分。
我們才剛開始戀愛,我很緊張,想知道他會對我的坦白作何反應。他的回應大方而有詩意,恰似故事本身那樣。
我們下次見面時,他把我的名字寫在了他的手臂上。六個擦洗不掉的小寫字母印刻在皮膚上。我欣賞著這個紋身時,他說我照亮了他的黑夜,而他也會照亮我的黑夜。他說不管發生什么事情,我們都會一起面對。他會一直在我身邊。
我在大學的最后一個學期認識戴維,我們都是英語和戲劇專業的學生。我喜歡他因為他聰明而不顯擺,幽默而不刻薄。他的堅定讓我在確診后首次有了安全感。
他在一個南方小城鎮長大,一直想居住在加利福尼亞州,但一直沒下決心――直到我和他一起跨出這一步。
在洛杉磯,戴維幫我通過試鏡,我為他整理稿子。
周末,我們把他那輛破舊的敞篷車車頂打開,開上太平洋海岸高速路,大聲播放著音樂。我們都覺得,金黃色的山看起來就像沉睡著的獅子的背部。戴維單手開了好幾個小時的車,另一只手緊握著我的手。
我們在一起的生活非常浪漫,漸漸逼近的失明給我們更多的是祝福,而不是詛咒,因為它激勵我們珍惜現在的生活。失明很有詩意,只因為它還沒發生。
實際的情況就是乏味、令人疲倦、混亂。它以讓人吃驚的方式改變你,有些改變是好的,有些則是壞的。這與現實中的婚姻很相似。
戴維把我的名字文在手臂上的十年后,與哥特式愛情小說相比,我們的故事更接近雷蒙德?卡佛的小說風格――以最普通的方式消逝。第十年,我33歲生日那天,我在布魯克林的門廊上獨自抽泣。
我放棄了表演,因為我已不能在漆黑的舞臺和設備中辨認方位。我們搬回了我的家鄉布魯克林, 因為我開車很不安全。我們結婚了,有一個兒子,天真活潑,眼睛又大又圓。
我很高興我能分辨出這些細節,兩年后我女兒出生,我也很興奮看到了她圓圓的臉頰和彎彎的嘴唇。我看著他們眼睛深處的藍色,看見這些變化讓我充滿了感激。但我同時也充滿了恐懼。
我女兒出生那年正是我確診十周年的時候,那時候我的視力衰退嚴重,被認定為失明。我的視力像攝像機的孔徑般縮小,只剩下極弱的孔狀視力。
我常常撞向人或其他東西:單杠、消防栓、打開的柜門。我還患上了白內障,這讓我難以在兒科醫生的辦公室里填寫表格,其實是根本看不到表格上的字。
我一直忙于盡可能多地利用自己的視力,而沒有做好失去視力的準備。我從不向別人提起我的病,包括那些本來就略知一二的人。
我的自信心也少了,我不再穿高跟鞋因為我會摔跤,不畫眼線因為我畫不直,不看書因為我看不見印刷字體。我感覺我不僅僅是失去了視力,還失去了生活中的重要部分。
由于我沒有其他外界的幫助,這個責任就落到了戴維頭上,他成了我隱秘的眼睛。所有這一切,還有撫養兩個小孩的常見壓力,都依靠著一場婚姻來維持。
我33歲生日那天,戴維和我奢侈了一把,請了一位臨時保姆,準備和朋友外出吃晚餐。我花了一個小時在一面放大鏡前化妝,但戴維卻看出來有點不對稱。他送了我一本安?拉莫特的書,但我讀不了。
我們在步行至飯店的路上又討論了是否要第三個孩子。
我想要但又害怕我因視力逐漸衰退而不能照顧好嬰兒。戴維說他聽我的,但似乎很難做到,我們的資源(錢、時間、還有視力)很有限。
半路上,我們的討論發展成了爭吵,最后,戴維怒氣沖沖地走了,讓我自己去聚餐。我停下來,蜷縮在最近的門廊上,獨自抽泣。
我并非感到無助,我可以自己回家。但我不能獨自參加聚餐,我看不清我的朋友在哪,看不清菜單。我需要戴維,他討厭這一點,而我為他的不滿感到生氣。
我記得我跟他說過我要在振奮中瞎掉,不要在哭泣中瞎掉,他也說過不管是黑夜還是白天,我們永遠在一起。我們似乎都錯了。
幾分鐘后,戴維那雙棕色大靴子――他放在門口時我常常被它們絆倒,出現在我的視線中。
“你不能就那樣走掉,”我說,“我需要你。”
“我知道,”他說。
“我討厭這樣。”
“我也是。”
然后他握著我的手說,我們會想辦法解決的。
生日過后,我致電紐約盲人委員會,他們教我如何使用移動手杖和適應技巧。我使用了放大器后就不需要戴維來量孩子們吃泰諾的量和調溫度調節器了。我用戴維送我的圣誕禮物――電子閱讀器,可以輕松地閱讀安?拉莫特的書。
我重新獲得了很多失去了的能力,并開始平和地看待我不得不失去的東西。
一年后,戴維帶我外出晚餐時說要告訴我一件事。他的臉在燈光下很模糊,但我能看到他的嘴在微笑。
“我想我們應該再要一個孩子,”他說。
我眨了眨眼睛。“但――”
今天早上起來,天還是灰色的。可是上學以后,天不知怎么就慢慢變黑了,黑的什么都看不見了。白天變成了黑夜,還下起了傾盆大雨。這樣的天氣,我們都誤認為是黑夜。沒睡熟的人都想睡覺了。天上的雷公公“咚咚”地敲起了大鼓,雨一會兒停一會兒下。
街道上的雨水成了海的源頭。校門外的水很深,大人下去大腿都濕了。我想既然成小河了,里面一定有小魚和青蛙吧。可惜哦水太深,媽媽不讓我走,抱我上了車,要不我一定會看個明白。
我很是奇怪怎么白天就成了黑夜的情景呢?
小鎮的人都知道,鄧康家條件不好:10歲那年,鄧康的父親走了;15歲那年,母親又沒了工作。高一沒有念完,鄧康不愿意念書了,不是不喜歡念書,是他不忍看母親太苦。輟學不久,鄧康買回一輛自行車,第二天,他騎著自行車去了雪糕廠。炎熱的中午,大家都在家休息,鄧康還推著自行車,車后面馱著裝雪糕的泡沫箱子。“賣雪糕■,賣雪糕■”……踩在發熱的街上,鄧康這樣吆喝。
一天傍晚,河邊來了幾個女孩。其中的一個女孩,看起來格外嬌小,皮膚也白得很好看。女孩們拿著救生圈,像群唧唧喳喳的麻雀,撲通撲通跳下水。遠遠看著這群女孩,水中的鄧康在心里直樂。沒有一個女孩熟悉游泳,尤其那個嬌小的女孩。晚霞滿天的夕陽下,只見她抱著救生圈,兩條腿亂蹬,蹬起大片大片水花。
沒多久,女孩們發現了鄧康。呃,看什么看,沒看過女孩游泳!那個嬌小的女孩大聲沖鄧康喊。女孩的聲音十分清脆,非常動聽。鄧康的臉一紅,他剛準備游開,嬌小的女孩又大聲喊:呃,你過來,過來教我們游泳。
女孩叫許微。名師出高徒,也許真應了這句話,一個星期不到,許微的游泳技術大有長進。她已經會一雙手兩條腿在水里亂打,借著這股力量在水里浮段距離。她這樣打時,鄧康喜歡在許微濺起的漫天水花中笑。鄧康說:你游泳的樣子,總讓我想起垂死掙扎的魚。許微會這樣抗議鄧康:去去去,你見過這樣漂亮的魚嗎?
跟許微熟了,才知道許微家在市里,她也在市里念大學。許微有個在小鎮工作的親戚,她這是來親戚家度假的。聽到大學,鄧康的心情有些黯淡。讀書的時候,他成績不錯,要不是家里條件不好,他應該也念大學了。心情黯淡歸黯淡,有事沒事,鄧康還是向許微打聽跟大學有關的事情:大學的圖書館,是不是很大很寬敞?圖書館的書,是不是任學生借出來看?大學的男女學生,是不是真像電視里那樣,戀愛得又自由又大膽?……
得知鄧康每天去雪糕廠,許微對雪糕廠也很好奇:你知道雪糕是怎么做出來的嗎?
2時間過得真快,仿佛眨眼工夫,暑假便過去了。臨走的時候,許微說:等著我,我寒假還來度假。就因為這句話,時間在鄧康的世界里,一下子又過得慢了……
等寒假終于來到,鄧康早已經不賣雪糕了。早晨的時候,小鎮的人還沒起床,他已經推著自行車在街上吆喝:“賣包子■,賣包子■。”沒錯,他的自行車后的泡沫箱里,現在裝的是熱氣騰騰的包子。
許微沒有食言,寒假才開始幾天,一個格外冷清的早上,突然有人在背后叫住鄧康:呃,賣包子的,給我來兩個包子。鄧康心里一凜,急顛顛回過頭。站在他身后的,果然是許微。
賣完包子,許微常逼著鄧康帶她去河邊玩。河里的水已經結了冰。鄧康常撿起河邊的小泥塊,巧妙地將小泥塊朝冰上拋。這一手拋泥塊的功夫,鄧康已經練得很好。十個小泥塊,總有九個能被他拋得貼著冰,一路飛奔。許微自然不服氣,她覺得這很簡單,只是她拋出去的泥塊,十塊有十一塊,笨笨地掉在冰上。
這年冬天,老天下了場雪。那場雪下得真大,整個鎮子仿佛被雪淹沒了。許微不知有多興奮,鄧康的包子沒賣完,她扯著鄧康,死活讓鄧康陪她打雪仗。鄧康當然不答應,他賣一天包子,賺的錢夠他和母親花幾天。許微便賴皮了,不管鄧康答不答應,抓起地上的雪,一把向鄧康砸來,砸在鄧康的額頭上、鼻梁上、嘴唇邊……
等到許微再來鎮上度假,便是第二年的夏天。一個暖和的下午,鄧康陪許微去河邊散步。走著走著,許微突然轉過身說:呃,我有個問題,答對了獎你一個Kiss。鄧康的心跳了一跳。鄧康沒有說話,不過他很想對許微說:其實我也有問題問你,你知不知道,為什么每年我都盼著暑假和寒假快些來到?
寒假結束,許微要走了。騎著自行車,鄧康送許微去汽車站。直到開往市里的汽車就要啟動,許微才從車窗后探出頭,大聲告訴鄧康:呃,你聽著,我每年來這里度假,其實是為了看你。
3第三年夏天,鄧康沒見到許微。夏天開始不久,每天進門出門,鄧康的眼睛會忍不住朝墻上的掛歷瞟。時間過得真慢。等臨近暑假,時間便越加慢了。鄧康在街上賣雪糕,老喜歡回頭看。只是他回了無數次頭,沒有一次回頭,他會在背后看到許微。
半個月后,鄧康去了許微的親戚家。親戚說,許微不會來了,前段時間,他給許微家打電話,許微和父母正計劃去香港度假……臨走之前,鄧康問親戚要了許微家的電話。見不到許微,聽聽她的聲音也好呀。
那時候,小鎮的電話不多,總共兩三部吧。就是打往市里的電話,也要兩塊錢一分鐘。鄧康猶豫了,兩塊錢他得賣多少根雪糕呀。不過鄧康還是打了電話。遺憾的是,是個陌生女人接的電話。她告訴鄧康,許微和她父母一個星期前去了香港,而這個女人是許微家做清潔衛生的鐘點工。
再見許微,天氣便冷了。一年不見,許微仿佛更加白了。
夏天的香港之行,也許給許微留下很深的印象。常常說著說著,許微會將話題突然轉到香港。香港的銅鑼灣,香港的維多利亞港,香港的馬路,香港的風景……香港面前,鄧康不知道說什么才好。讓他說什么呢?長這么大,他沒有出過遠門。
寒假眼看結束。一天晚上,鄧康和許微一起,坐在許微親戚家的電視機前。電視里的男主角非常矛盾,是和心上人歸隱山林,還是一個人留在江湖繼續闖蕩,男主角不知如何取舍。看完電視,許微送鄧康出來。鄧康問許微:如果你是男主角,你會選擇歸隱,還是繼續闖蕩?許微一愣,然后她笑嘻嘻說:我當然選擇闖蕩,因為我從沒出去闖蕩過。鄧康沒有出聲,他心里的答案是:只要和喜歡的人一起,外面的世界再精彩,他也會選擇歸隱。
4第四個夏天,夏天還沒到來,一個機會擺在鄧康面前。有個在鎮上開廠的熟人,一眼看中鄧康的樸實勤奮,想讓鄧康去他的小廠做事,鄧康拒絕了。其實鄧康不想拒絕,他不能賣一輩子雪糕,只是想到要工作了他和許微在一起的時間總是不能長久……鄧康暗暗在心里打起小算盤,他只要再賣一段時間雪糕,等許微開始工作,不管許微在哪工作,也不管那里生活多不容易,他也會朝著許微工作的城市直奔……
突然接到許微的電話,夏天其實沒開始多久。鄧康家當然沒有電話。許微跟公用電話亭認識鄧康的人約好,讓他第二天去接電話。接通電話,許微第一句話說:你趕緊來市里吧,我現在想見你。鄧康一喜,不過他很快一驚。和許微相處,許微從來不是直接的人。他的腦子飛快轉圈,而且盡往不好的方向旋轉。事實證明,鄧康不是杞人憂天的人。許微告訴鄧康,去年的香港之行,給她父母留下了極深的印象,他們已經為許微辦好一切手續,鋪好所有道路,只等許微傍晚動身,趕往香港的一家公司上班……鄧康忍不住打斷許微:那,那你愿不愿意去香港上班?許微的聲音一下子小了,許微說:我愿意。
見到許微,已經是下午三四點鐘。許微穿套米白色的棉布套裙,站在市汽車站出站口。那套裙子真白,它在夏日午后的陽光里,灼灼打著鄧康的眼睛。鄧康突然就有點手足無措,不知說什么好,也不知該不該向許微靠近。
從汽車站出來,鄧康走在許微身后。不知跟了多久,許微突然回過頭說:行了,要不你回去吧,一個小時后,我就要坐車趕往機場,然后從機場飛往香港。
鄧康遲疑著沒有行動。其實他心里有無數的話,不知如何用言語表達。遲疑了一陣,他終于問許微:從機場到香港,大概要多長時間?許微說:我也不知道確切時間,要幾個小時吧。
說完話,許微便轉過身,果斷地往她的方向走。鄧康也轉過身,徑直向市汽車站走。也不知走了多久,鄧康忍不住回頭,卻看見許微也在回頭。視線與鄧康在空中相撞,許微便慌張地轉過頭,仿佛還抬起一只手,擦了擦她的眼睛……
回來的路上,不知怎么回事,鄧康哭了。
很久,鄧康止住了眼淚。他的人生仿佛在一瞬間長大,他也在這個長大的過程中明白了許多……從他生活的小鎮到香港,也許不需要多少時間,可是他生活的小鎮和香港,畢竟是兩個世界,這兩個世界就像他和許微,就像黑夜和白天……
5這年夏天,鄧康還是走進了那個熟人辦的小廠。
只在黎明混著夜色時
才有淺淺重疊的片刻
白天和黑夜只交替沒交換
無法想像對方的世界
我們仍堅持各自等在原地
把彼此站成兩個世界
你永遠不懂我傷悲
像白天不懂夜的黑
像永恒燃燒的太陽
不懂那月亮的盈缺
你永遠不懂我傷悲
像白天不懂夜的黑
不懂那星星為何會墜跌
白天和黑夜只交替沒交換
無法想像對方的世界
我們仍堅持各自等在原地
把彼此站成兩個世界
你永遠不懂我傷悲
像白天不懂夜的黑
像永恒燃燒的太陽
不懂那月亮的盈缺
你永遠不懂我傷悲
像白天不懂夜的黑
不懂那星星為何會墜跌
你永遠不懂我傷悲
像白天不懂夜的黑
像永恒燃燒的太陽
不懂那月亮的盈缺
你永遠不懂我傷悲
像白天不懂夜的黑
不懂那星星為何會墜跌
不懂我傷悲
1、意思是,白天與黑遠沒有交集,所以永能了解黑夜,也不能理解夜,出自歌曲《白天不懂夜的黑》。
2、《白天不懂夜的黑》的前奏曲是令人興奮的,仿佛要把心情說得淋漓盡致,《白天不懂夜的黑》一改《為你朝思暮想》中女人柔情的音樂風格,是一首帶有細節、畫面、意象、深情表達的歌曲。這首歌完全突出了那英的獨斷演唱能力,它有著很大的音程跨度,情感表現得淋漓盡致,動聽的旋律也溫柔地吸引人。
(來源:文章屋網 )