C H A P T E R 5

  LifewiththeDayfamilyacquiredareassuringpattern.Myfatherwouldleaveforworkbeforeanyofusstirredfromoursleep,andthatgoldenwakinghourbetweenhisdepartureandmymarchtoschoolwasa-fort.Mymotheratthestove,stirringoatmealbreakfastinapawinsexplthekitonunsteadyfeet.Thepicturewindowsframedaawaytheoutsideworld.TheDayshomehadlongagobeenawork-ingfarm,andthoughagriculturehadbeenabandoned,vestigesremained.Anoldbarn,redpaintstoadarkmauve,nowservedasagarage.Thesplit-railfefrohepropertywasfallingapartstickbystick.Thefield,anacreorsothathadflushedgreenwith,layfallow,atangleofbramblesthatDadonlybotheredtomowonceeachOctober.TheDayswerethefirsttoabandinthearea,andtheirdistantneighborsjoihemovertheyears,sellingoffhomesteadsandacreagetodevelopers.ButwhenIwasachild,itwasstillaquiet,lonesomeplace.

  Thetrickofgrowingupistoremembertogrow.ThementalpartofbeingHenryDaydemandedfullattentiontoeverydetailofhislife,butnoamountofpreparationforthegingatfortheswathofthesubjectsfamilyhistory—memoriesofbygohdaypartiesandotherintimacies—thatopretendtoremember.Historyiseasyenoughtofake;stickaroundanyonelongenoughandonecatchuptoanyplot.Butotheractsandflawsexposetherisksofassuminganothersidentity.For-tunatelyweseldomhadpany,fortheoldhousewasisolatedonasmallbitoffarmlandoutinthetry.

  NearmyfirstChristmas,whilemymotherattehegtwinsupstairsandIidledbythefireplace,aknockcameatthefrontdoor.Ontheporanwithhisfedorainhand,thesmellofaretcigarmixingwiththefaintlymedialaromaofhairoil.HegrinnedasifhereizedmeatohoughIhadnotseenhimbefore.

  "HenryDay,"hesaid."AsIliveahe."

  Istoodfixedtothethreshold,seargmymemoryforanerrantclueastowhothismanmightbe.Heclickedhisheelstogetherandbowedslightlyatthewaist,thenstrodepastmeintotheflangfurtivelyupthestairs."Isyourmotherin?Isshedet?"

  Hardlyanyonecametovisitinthemiddleoftheday,exceptoccasion-allythefarmerswivesnearbyormothersofmysates,drivingoutfromtownwithafreshcakeandnewgossip.WheniedonHenry,therewasnomahanhisfatherorthemilkmanwhocametothehouse.

  Hetossedhishatonthesideboardandturofacemeagain."Howlongsitbeen,Henry?Yourmamasbirthday,maybe?Youdontlooklikeyouvegrownawhisker.Yourdaddynotfeedingyou?"

  Istaredatthestrangeranddidnotknowwhattosay.

  "RunupthestairsandtellyourmamaImhereforavisit.Goonnow,son."

  "WhoshallIsayiscalling?"

  "Why,yourUncleCharlie,a-course."

  "ButIdonthaveanyuncles."

  Themanlaughed;thenhisbrowfurrowedandhismouthbecamease-vereline."Areyouokay,Henryboy?"Hebentdowntolookmeintheeye."Now,Imnotactuallyyouruncle,son,butyourmamasoldestfriend.Afriendofthefamily,youmightsay."

  Mymothersavedmebyingdowairwayunbidden,andthemomehestranger,shethrewherarmsintotheairandrushedtoembracehim.Itookadvaheirreuniontoslipaway.

  Aclosecall,butnotasbadasthescareafewweekslater.Inthosefirstfewyears,Istillhadallmygelingpowersandcouldhearlikeafox.Promanyroominthehouse,Icouldeavesdroponmyparentsduringtheirun-guardedversations,andoverheardDadssuspisduringonesuchpillowtalk.

  "Haveyounotiythingoddabouttheboylately?"

  Sheslipsintobedbesidehim."Odd?"

  "Theresthesingingaroundthehouse."

  "Hesalovelyvoice."

  "Andthosefingers."

  Ilookedatmyhands,andinparisonwithotherchildrens,myfin-gerswereexceedinglylongandoutofproportion.

  "Ithinkhellbeapianist.Billy,weoughttohavehimatlessons."

  "Andtoes."

  Icurledupmytoesinmybedupstairs.

  "Andheseemstohavegrownnotaninchorputonnotapoundallwinterlong."

  "Heneedssomesunisall."

  Theoldmanrollsovertowardher."Hesaqueerlad,isallIknow."

  "Billy...stop."

  Iresolvedthatnighttobeeatrueboyandbeginpayingcloserat-tentiontohowImightbesiderednormal.Oncesuchamistakehadbeehingcouldbedone.Icouldntverywellshortenmyfingersandtoesandiherskepticism,butIcouldstretchtherestofmeabiteaightandkeepupwithalltheotherchildren.IalsomadeitapointtoavoidDadasmuchaspossible.

  Theideaofthepianuedmeasawaytoingratiatemyselfwithmymother.Whenshewasntlisteningtoersontheradio,shemightdialintheclassics,particularlyonaSunday.Batmyheadspinningwithburiedreveries,juringanethedistantpast.ButIhadtofigureawaytomentionmyiwithoutMomrealizingthatherprivateversa-tionscouldbeheardnomatterhowquietorintimate.FortuhetwinssuppliedtheaChristmas,mydistantgrandparehematoypiano.Nobiggerthanabreadbasket,itproducedbutatinnyoctaveofnotes,andfromNewYearsDaythekeysgatheredadustycoat.Irescuedthetoyandsatinthenursery,playingnearlyreizabletunesfromdistantmemory.Mysisters,asusual,wereented,aliketwoentrancedyogisasItestedmymemoryonthepianoslimitedrange.Dustraginhand,mymotherwanderedbyandstoodinthedoorway,listeningily.Fromtheerofmyeye,Iwatchedherwatgme,andwhenIehaflourish,herapplausewasnotpletelyued.

  Inthefleetingtimebetweenhomeworkanddinner,Ipickedoutatuneofsorts,andgraduallyrevealedmynativetalent,butsheneededmoreencementthanthat.Myschemewascasualandsimple.Iletdropthefactthatahalf-dozenofthekidsinschooltookmusiclessons,when,intruth,theremayhavebeewo.Oncartrips,Ipretehatthepanelbelowmywindowwasakeyboardandfingeredmeasuresuntilmyfatherorderedmetocutthatout.Imadeapointofwhistlingthefirstfewbarsofsomethingfamil-iar,likeBeethovensNinth,whenhelpingMomdrythedishes.Ididnotbeg,butbidedmytime,untilshecametobelievetheideaasherown.Mygambitplayedoutwhen,ourdaybeforeHehbirthday,myparentsdrovemeintothecitytoseeamanaboutpianolessons.

  Weleftthetwintoddlerswiththeneighbors,ahreeofussatupfrontinmyfatherscoupe,embarkingearlythatspringminourSun-dayclothes.WedrovepastthetownwhereIwenttoschool,whereweshoppedaoMass,andontothehighwayintothecity.Shinycarszippedalongtheasphaltaswepickedupspeed,joiningaribbonofpureenergyflowinginbothdires.WewentfasterthanIdevergoneinmylife,andIhadothecityinnearlyonehundredyears.Billydrovethe49DeSotolikeanoldfriend,onehandonthewheel,hisfreearmthrownacrosstheseatbehindmymotheraheoldquistadorstaredatusfromthesteeringwheelshub,andasDadmadeaturn,theex-plorerseyesseemedtofollowus.

  Onourapproachtothecity,thefactoriesoskirtsappearedfirst,greatsmokestacksexhalingstreamsofdarkclouds,furhinglowingwithheartsoffire.Abendintheroad—thenallatonce,aviewofbuildingsstretchedtoheaven.Thedowntownssheersizeleftmebreathless,andthecloserwecame,thegreateritloomed,untilsuddenlywewereinthecar-chokedstreets.Theshadowsdeepenedanddarkeacrossstreet,atrol-leyscrapedalong,itspoleshootingsparkstothewiresabove.Itsdoorsopenedlikeabellows,andoutpouredacrowdofpeopleintheirspringcoatsandhats;theystoodonacreteislandireet,waitingforthelighttoge.Inthedepartmentstorewindows,reflesofshoppersandtraffiihdisplaysofnewgoods:womensdressesandmenssuitsonman-nequins,whieinitially,appearingaliveandposingperfectlystill.

  "Idontknowwhyyoufeeltheoeallthewaydowntownforthis.YouknowIdontlikeingintothecity.Illneverfindparking."

  Mhtarmshotout."Theresaspace,arentwelucky?"

  Ridingupintheelevator,myfatherreachedinsidehiscoatpocketforaCamel,andasthedoorsopehefifthfloor,helitup.Wewereafewminutesearly,andwhiletheydebatedoverwhetherornottogoin,Iwalkedtothedooraered.Mr.Martinmaynothavebeenafairy,buthewasveryfey.Tallandthin,hiswhitehairlonginashaggyboyscut,heworeawornplum-coloredsuit.ChristopherRobinallgrownupandgoogen-teelseed.BehindhimstoodthemostbeautifulmaeIhadeverseen.Lac-queredtoahighblaish,thegrandpianodrewallofthevitalityoftheroomtowarditspropped-openlid.Thosekeysheldintheirserenitythepos-sibilityofeverybeautifulsound.Iwastoodumbstrucktoanswerhisinquirythefirsttime.

  "MayIhelpyou,youngman?"

  "ImHenryDay,andImheretolearhingyouknow."

  "Mydearyoungman,"hereplied,sighing,"Imafraidthatsimpossi-ble."

  Iwalkedtothepianoandsatatthebench.Thesightofthekeysun-lockedadistantmemoryofasternGermaninstructormetoihetempo.Istretchedmyfingersasfarapartaspossible,testingmyspan,andlaidthemupontheivorywithouteliganactaltone.Mr.Martinglidedbehindme,overlookingmyshoulder,studyingmyhands."Haveyouplayedbefore?"

  "Onceuponatime..."

  "FindmemiddleC,Mr.Day."

  Andwithoutthinking,Idid,pressingthesinglekeywiththesideofmyleftthumb.

  Mymotherandfathereheroom,announgthemselvesoliteahem.Mr.Martinwheeledaroundandstrodereetthem.Astheyshookhandsandmadeintrodus,Iplayedscalesfromthemiddleoutward.Tonesfromthepianeredpowerfulsynapses,resurregscoresthatIknewbyheart.Avoimyheaddemandedheissblütig,heissblütig—morepassion,morefeeling.

  "Yousaidhewasabeginner."

  "Heis,"mymotherreplied."Idontthinkheseverevenseenarealpiano."

  "Thisboyisanatural."

  Forfun,Ipli"TwiwitleStar,"thewayIwouldplayitformysisters.Iwascarefultouseonlyonefinger,asifthegrandwerebutatoy.

  "Hetaughthimselfthat,"Momsaid."Onatinypianothatyoumightfindinafairyorchestra.Andhesing,too,singlikeabird."

  Dadshotmeaquicksidewaysglaoobusysizingupmymother,Mr.Martindidnotnoticethewordlessexge.Mymotherrattledonaboutallofmytalents,butnobodylistened.Inmeasurestooslowandfarapart,IpracticedmyChopin,sodisguisedthatevenoldMartindidnotdis-coverthemelody.

  "Mr.Day,Mrs.Day,Iagreetotakeonyourson.Myminimumrequire-ment,however,isfhtweeksoflessonsatatime,WednesdayafternoonsandSaturdays.Iteachthisboy."Theioned,inavoicebarelyaboveawhisper,hisfee.MyfatherlitanotherCamelandwalkedtowardthewindow.

  "Butforyourson"—headdressedmymothernow—"forHenry,abornmusiifIeverheardone,forhim,Iwillrequireonlyhalfthetuition,butyoumustittosixteenweeks.Fourmonths.Wewillknoego."

  Ipickedoutarudimentary"HappyBirthday."Myfatherfinishedhissmokeandtappedmeontheshoulder,indigweweretoleave.HewalkedovertoMomandgrabbedherlightlybythefleshypartofherarmabovetheelbow.

  "IllcallyouMonday,"hesaid,"atthree-thirty.Wellthinkitover."

  Mr.Martinbowedslightlyandlookedmestraightintheeye."Youhaveagift,youngman."

  Aswedrovehome,Iwatchedthecityrecedeinthemirroranddisap-pear.Momchatteredincessantly,dreamiure,planningourlives.Billy,handslockedonthewheel,tratedontheroadandsaidnothing.

  "IllbuysomelayihatswhatIlldo.Rememberwhenyouusedtosayyouwaurnourplacebatoarealfarm?Illstartabroodofchis,andwellselltheeggs,andthatwillpaythebill,surely.Andimagine,wellhavefresheggsourselveseverym,too.AndHenrytaketheschoolbustothestreetcar,areettotown.YoucoulddrivehimtothestreetcarSaturdays?"

  "Icoulddochorestoearnthefare."

  "Yousee,Billy,howmuchhewantstolearn?Hehasagift,thatMr.Martinsaid.Andhessorefined.Didyoueverseesuchathinginyourlifeasthatpiashieveryday."

  Myfatherrolleddownhiswindowaboutaninchtoletinaroaroffreshair.

  "DidyouhearhimplayHappyBirthdaytoYou,likehesbeenatitforever?Itswhathewants;itswhatIwant.Sweetheart."

  "Whenwouldhepractice,Ruth?EvenIknowyouhavetoplayeveryday,andImightbeabletoaffordpianolessons,butIcertainlytaffordapianointhehouse."

  "Theresapianoatschool,"Isaid."Nobodyusesit.ImsureifIasked,theydletmestayafter...."

  "Whataboutyourhomeworkandthosechoresyousaidyouwoulddo?Idontwanttoseeyradesslipping."

  "imesniy-one.SeparateisspelledS-E-P-A-R-A-T-E.Oppenheimergaveusthebomb,whichtookcareoftheJaps.TheHolyTrin-ityistheFather,Son,andtheHolyGhost,anditisaholymysterythatnoonefigureout."

  "Allright,Einstein.Youtryit,butfhtweeks.Justtobesure.Andyourmotherwillhavetoraisetheeggmoney,andyouhavetohelpcareforthechis.Theyteachyouthatinthatschoolofyours?"

  Ruthstudiedhisface,ararelookofloveandwonderinhergaze.Bothgrinnedaprivate,sheepishhalf-smile,themeaningofwhicheludedme.Sit-tiweenthem,Ibaskedinthewarmthofthemoment,laganyguiltoverthefactthatIwasnottheirchild.Wedroveon,thehappiestofhappylittlefamilies.

  Aswecrossedahighbridgeovertherivernotfarfromourhouse,aotionflashedalongtheriverbankfarbelow.Tomyhorror,Isawalineofgelingswalkingthroughaclearinginsinglefile,blendinginwiththebuddingtreesandbushes,thenvanishinginablink.Thosestrangechildrenmovedlikedeer.Myparentswereoblivious,butatthethoughtofthosecreaturesdownthere,Iflushedandbrokeintoasweat,whichasquicklyturoachill.Thattheystillexistedalarmedme,forIhadnearlyfottehattheycouldexposemypastmademeill,andIwasabouttobegmyfathertopullofftheroad.Buthelitupanaretteandopenedhiswindowwider,andthefreshairalleviatedmynausea,ifnotmyfear.

  Mombrokethespell."DidntMr.Martinaskustoittofourmonths?"

  "IllcallhimMondayandworkoutadeal.Letstrytwomonths,actually,atfirst.Seeiftheboylikesit."

  Fortheyears,Itookpianolessons,anditwasthehappiesttimeofallmylives.IfIcameinearlytoschool,thenunsweregladtoletmepracticeattheuprightinthelun.Lateromeintothechurchtolearnthean,andIwastheyousubstituteanisttheparisheverhad.Lifebecameorderly,andthedisciplineajoy.Eachm,myhauhewarmbelliesofthechis,collegeggs,andeachafter-noon,myfingersuponthekeyboard,perfegmyteique.OnWednes-daysandSaturdays,thetripintothecityprovedatonic,awayfromfarmandfamilyandintocivilization.Nolongersomethingwild,butacreatureofcul-ture,onmywaytobeingavirtuosoonceagain.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读

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