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英语美文-橘香

作者:admin    文章来源:盐田区外国语学校    更新时间:2017-11-14

 Death, and the notion of aging, has always hung over me like a heavy cloud. I have sought ways of avoiding the topic. But here I find myself visiting my mother, recently confined to a 1)home. All around me, I hear death 2)hissing through the 3)clang of 4)bedpans and squeals of wheelchairs, through the endless 5)drone of 6)catatonic dining companions. Amid the vacant eyes of childlike faces, the tired bodies 7)draped before the dinner trays, my mother sits facing me. She glances at the gift of oranges I have brought her and nods her approval.
  
  I have come 3,000 miles to be with her, but silence forms a wall between us now. 8)Advanced 9)Parkinson’s has already claimed her voice. Her legs, long withered,10)dangle uselessly. I wheel her into her small room, still 11)stupefied by the disease that chains us both to these white walls away from life.
  
  My mother’s eyes are luminous, glistened pearls. Once they flashed 12)indignantly at the thought of being in a nursing home, then accusingly, then 13)beseechingly. Now they simply look at me with 14)resignation. Sometimes they stare into a far off place.
  
  I watch her helplessly as the minutes tick by. My mind races to fill the space taken up by silence. I think: if only she had been diagnosed earlier, if only I were not so far away. Then hope, not guilt, would be a visitor. I remember the warmth of her back when she carried me, my small arms 15)wrapped around her like a shawl. How, when I was red with fever, she rocked my 16)blistered body until I fell asleep. The hot nights on the rooftops of Kowloon eating watermelon seeds and watching the 17)neon lights twinkling in the streets below. The first days in America when I clung to her like a shadow. The dark times, too, when I 18)cowered in a corner before her 19)wrath. These thoughts I hold onto like photographs in an album, stilled images of the mother I no longer have access to.
  
  She points a 20)gnarled finger at the orange I left on her table. I peel it carefully, glad to have something to do. A 21)spray of 22)citrus fills the air and her eyes widen like a child anticipating sweets. I hand her a slice, which she grasps unsteadily. She brings it23)painstakingly to her mouth and sucks with soft 24)smacks. I eat my slice too, squeezing the little25)beads of juice with my teeth until the flavor bursts over my tongue like a rain shower.
  
  Oranges were always around in our house when I grew up. They cleansed the 26)palate after every dinner; topped 27)pomelos on New Year’s28)altars, were the calling cards of visitors who always brought the fruit as a gift to the host. To me they were heavy sacks of obligation during holidays and weekends, when my mother and I29)wended our way through 30)tenement buildings to visit fellow immigrants from China. The tables were 31)littered with 32)melon seeds and orange 33)peels as I waited impatiently while my mother and her friends chatted; conversations I found hard to relate to, preferring instead to bury my head in a34)Nancy Drew book while they reminisced about the old village.  Now this bright leather-skinned fruit is the only bridge between us. We eagerly suck the memories the 35)piquant flavor evokes. The 36)tart 37)vapors tickle our nostrils. I can see from my mother’s 38)twitch of a smile that she remembers, too. She chews slowly, savoring each bite, as if the thoughts will fade away as soon as the orange is eaten and more slices of her life will peel away.
  
  We finish the whole orange. She 39)belches in satisfaction. I wipe her chin; then we sit and gaze at each other. There are so many words that will never get spoken; dreams that will stay unfulfilled; regrets that are etched in our skins like 40)birthmarks. But in this moment it does not matter what I want her to be, what she used to be, or what I fear she is becoming. There is only the room, the faint scent of oranges, and us, breathing in unison. We sit and breathe together. In this moment is the whole of our lives.
  
  一直以来,“死亡”、“衰老”这些念头就如阴霾一般笼罩在我的头上。我千方百计回避这个话题。然而,此刻,我在探望最近困卧老人院的母亲,再也难以逃避了。

在这里,死神在我耳边嘶嘶鸣响——便盆的叮当声,轮椅的刺耳吱

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