One day a gentleman came to the orphanage; he talked with the head office and they agreed to allow him to come in. So, every other week he came and taught the children how to do woodworking projects. I remember the night, when I was eight years old, that I finished my first project. It was a small table with a Formica注 top, and I was so proud of that table. I looked upon it as though I had created a life.
It was absolutely beautiful, not to mention this was the first time in our whole lives that the orphanage had allowed us to use our own minds. It had taken me six weeks to complete my project, and I could hardly wait to give my little table to Mother Winters as a gift.
Mother Winters was our head mistress, the administrator of our orphanage. We called all of our female caretakers “Mother” – it was a title we used when talking to them. As the table legs were not dry from the clear coating that had been applied, the man asked us to wait until our next session before taking our projects to our dormitories. But I was just so excited and happy I couldn’t wait. Besides, my woodworking project was the best one of all (except for this full-size rowboat[划艇] some ten-year-old nut was trying to build).
I moved my table toward the doorway and waited for the right opportunity to escape. Then out the door I went like a flash, running through the darkness with my little hands underneath the table top, smiling from ear to ear, as I headed toward the dormitory.
When I reached the dormitory I placed the beautiful little table beside my bed, and I just stood there for about ten minutes, looking at what I had created.
Then Mother Winters entered the room. I pointed at the table, and she smiled at me. I felt so proud. She asked me where the other children were, and I told her that they were cleaning up the sawdust[木屑] and would be coming soon. She walked over to the table and ran her hand across the slick[光滑的] Formica top. “It is very pretty,” she told me.
When she touched the table leg she noticed that the leg was still wet from the clear coating that I had brushed on earlier. She asked me why I had brought the table into the dormitory with the legs still wet. I did not know what to say, so I just stood there with my head down and I did not say anything.
“Were you supposed to bring this home?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” I told her.
Mother Winters kicked the table over onto its top with her foot. Then she stepped onto each of the small table legs, breaking them off. She then opened the side door and had me throw the little table out into the yard.
After Mother Winters had left the building, and all the other children were asleep, I opened the side door and went out to get my little table. There was sand stuck all over the legs. I brushed and cried, and brushed and cried, and brushed and cried, but the sand would not come off.
I hid the table in my closet, and I never returned to the wood shop after that, ever again. A year later I gave the little table and legs to Mother Henderson, my houseparent[学生宿舍管理员], so she could throw them away.
About thirty years later I tried to find as many of the orphanage children as possible in order to have a reunion, which we had in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1991. That’s when I learned that Mother Henderson was living in Asheville, North Carolina.
Several weeks later I drove up to see her, and we visited and talked for about four or five hours. As I was about to leave she asked me to come down to her basement and help her get something important. So we climbed down into her dark, cold, damp[潮湿的] cellar[地下室].
This shaking, 75-year-old woman walked over into a dark corner and picked something up. As she turned around I could see that she was holding a little table with four broken legs.
“Do you remember this?” she said.
I just stood there with my head down, and I did not say a word. I could not speak for fear of crying.
“Roger, I want you to have this.”
Mother Henderson gave me back that table that I had given up for lost so long ago. She had kept it all these years, never knowing if she would ever see me again. Her intention was to save the table, because she could not rid herself of the pain she remembered seeing in this orphan’s eyes. My name, which I had etched[蚀刻] underneath the table, was still there.
Since then, I have sanded[用砂纸擦光], clear-coated, and replaced the legs. That little Formica table – my first woodworking project so many years ago – now sits in my grand-daughter Chelsea’s bedroom, only a few feet from where I sit now, along with her little plastic chair that her poppa gave her.
I look at that table today with bittersweet memories. I think of my heartbroken disappointment at the time Mother Winters forced me to throw my broken table out of the door. But I am comforted, and rejoice at[对……感到欣喜] the kindness of Mother Henderson, who kept that little table as a remembrance – never wanting to forget the story of a young orphan who tried so very hard to please.
Thank you, Mother Henderson.
有一天,一位男士来到孤儿院。他与办公室的人交谈后,院方同意他进入孤儿院。于是,男士每隔一周就会过来教孩子们做木工。
记得八岁那年的一个晚上,我完成了自己的处女作。那是一张贴了福米卡塑料贴面的小桌子,我真为那张桌子感到骄傲。我看着它,仿佛自己创造了一个生命。
它漂亮极了,更别提这是孤儿院让我们有生以来第一次进行动脑创作。我花了六周的时间来完成这个作品,真恨不得马上把我的小桌子作为礼物送给温特斯妈妈。
温特斯妈妈是我们的校长,也是孤儿院的管理人。我们把孤儿院里所有女性看护员都称作“妈妈”——这是我们和她们谈话时所用的称呼。因为桌腿刚涂上的清漆还没干透,那位男士让我们等到下节课才把作品带回宿舍。但是我兴奋不已,乐坏了,实在等不下去。再说,我的木工作品是所有作品中最棒的(除了那个十岁小狂人努力制作的实物大小的划艇以外)。
我把桌子往门口方向移去,等待时机准备溜走。出了门后,我在黑暗中像闪电一般奔跑起来,小手托着桌子底部,咧着大嘴微笑着,朝宿舍跑去。
回到宿舍之后,我把这张漂亮的小桌子放在床边,呆呆地站了大概十分钟,望着自己一手创造的作品。然后温特斯妈妈进来了。我指着桌子,她对我微笑。我自豪极了。她问我其他孩子在哪里。我告诉温特斯妈妈他们正在清理木屑,很快就会回来。她走到桌子前,抚摸着光滑的福米卡塑料贴面,说:“它真漂亮。”
碰到桌腿时,她发现早前我给桌腿涂上的清漆还没干透。她问我为什么桌腿上的油漆还没干就把桌子带回宿舍。我不知道该怎么回答,于是低着头站在那里,一言不发。
“老师允许你带它回家吗?”她问。
“不,太太,”我回答道。
温特斯妈妈把小桌子踢翻,接着把每一条桌腿都踩掉了。然后她打开侧门,让我把小桌子丢到院子去。
等到温特斯妈妈离开宿舍、所有孩子都睡着之后,我打开侧门,走出去捡回我的小桌子。桌腿上粘满了沙子,我一边擦一边哭,一边擦一边哭,一边擦一边哭,可是沙子总是擦不掉。
我把桌子藏在衣橱里,从此再也没有去过那个木工车间。一年后,我把小桌子和桌腿一起交给宿舍管理员汉德森妈妈,让她帮我丢掉。
大约30年后的1991年,我试图找回当时孤儿院的伙伴,准备在(美国)佛罗里达州杰克逊维尔市再次聚首。就在那个时候,我得知汉德森妈妈住在北卡罗来纳州的阿什维尔市。
几周后,我开车去探望汉德森妈妈,见面后我们聊了四五个小时。我正准备离开的时候,她叫我帮她到地下室拿一件很重要的东西。于是我们爬下她那个昏暗、阴冷又潮湿的地下室。
这位75岁的老太太颤抖着走到一个黑暗的角落,拿起什么。当她转过身来,我能看到她手里拿着一张小桌子和掉下来的四条桌腿。
“你还记得这个吗?”她问。
我低着头站在那儿,说不出话来。我害怕自己一开口就会哭出来。
“罗杰,我希望你收下它。”
汉德森妈妈将我已经丢弃多年的桌子交回我手中。这么多年来,纵使不知道是否能与我再见,她依然将它保存至今。她原本只想留着桌子,因为她无法忘记从这个孤儿眼里看到的痛苦。我在桌子底部刻下的名字还在那儿。
自那以后,我用砂纸给桌子抛光,涂上清漆并更换了桌腿。这张小小的福米卡塑料贴面桌子是我许多年前的木工处女作,现在正安放在我孙女切尔西的睡房,离我此时所站的位置只有几步之遥,它的旁边还放着她爸爸送给她的小塑料椅子。
如今,我看着那张桌子,心中百味杂陈。我回想起温特斯妈妈强迫我把坏了的桌子丢出门去时那伤心欲绝的失望。但我也为汉德森妈妈的善意感到慰藉和欣喜——她将这张小小的桌子留作纪念,想永远记住这么一个故事:一位年幼的孤儿曾经如此竭尽所能,希望讨人喜爱。
谢谢你,汉德森妈妈。
注:商标名称,福米卡家具塑料贴面。