By+John+Samony

When it happened， I was in the middle of my lucky rabbit's foot1） phase. The fake rabbit's foot on a keychain was supposed to bring me luck.

Parents go through phases， too， the way kids do. Some try cooking exotic foods， learning musical instruments， or gardening. Mine were in their art-collecting phase when I mentioned that the mantle2） above the fireplace looked a little bare.

My parents agreed.

A few days later， we found ourselves at an auction at the art gallery downtown. It was like a museum， except smaller and everything was for sale.

My mom said， "Let us know if anything catches your eye."

I walked around the place. Nothing really caught my eye， except a sign that said Snack Bar—Upstairs.

I climbed the steps to the mezzanine3） where the snacks and drinks had been set up. I grabbed a small plate and piled on some carrot sticks， cherry tomatoes， chips， and onion dip4）. I leaned on the railing5） and ate， peering down at the people wandering around the gallery floor. I soon realized I had severe onion breath.

As I pulled a pack of mints6） from my pocket， I accidentally pulled out my rabbit's foot keychain as well.

Before I realized what was happening， the rabbit's foot was falling over the railing toward a small purple-and-yellow vase decorated with squiggly7） lines. I worried that it might hit the vase and knock it off its pedestal8）. As I was picturing the vase shattering all over the floor， the keychain dropped neatly inside.

I let out a breath.

For a second， I thought about leaving the rabbit's foot where it was—a little bonus prize for the person who bought the vase. But since it was my current fad9）， and without it I'd feel unlucky， I ran down the stairs to stage10） a rescue.

I looked around. No one had seen anything， and no one was watching me. I turned the vase upside down and shook it gently. Nothing. It reminded me of the way quarters sometimes get trapped inside my piggy bank. The rabbit's foot was probably lodged11） at a strange angle. I tried again. Nothing.

I rolled up my sleeve and dipped my hand into the vase as if I were fishing12） one of my mom's earrings out of the kitchen-sink drain （which I do more often than you might think）.

Grabbing a bit of fake fur by two fingers， I pulled my hand back up. Well， I tried to pull my hand back up.

I stole another look around the room. The crowd was too busy gazing at art to gaze at me.endprint

I tried again to pull out my hand. It was stuck.

I was standing in the middle of an art gallery with my hand inside an expensive vase. Maybe the stress and embarrassment had made my hand swell.

I didn't like what I heard next.

"Ladies and gentlemen， let's now begin the auction for these fine pieces of artistry and craftsmanship."

I was hoping the auctioneer would start with the paintings at the far wall near the entrance.

"Let's begin with the items on the floor. Our first piece is a vase in the Art Nouveau13） style."

Uh-oh.

Everyone was walking toward me. Including my parents. I stood still and closed my eyes.

Then the auctioneer stopped talking. It got quiet. I opened my eyes to see the entire room staring at me.

"What are you doing？" my dad asked.

Nothing was going to sound more unbelievable than the truth. "My hand is stuck."

"Oh， Mark！" my mom cried.

The crowd gasped14）.

"I'm OK，" I said.

My dad leaned in close and whispered in the auctioneer's ear.

The auctioneer nodded and spoke. "Since it appears this vase also comes with a red-faced young man， are there any objections to letting his parents purchase the piece at a reasonable price？"

I heard some laughs at the idea of a bidding war breaking out for a vase with me attached， but luckily no one bid.

"Sold to the parents of the， uh， lucky young man！"

When we got home and I was more relaxed， my dad dripped in some vegetable oil and I was able to slide my hand out.

The vase actually looks good on the mantle over our fireplace. At one point， I figured my rabbit's foot wasn't so lucky. But then I realized： it could have fallen into a vase that didn't match our wallpaper！

事情发生的时候，我正处在迷恋幸运兔脚的阶段，认为一条钥匙链上的假兔脚就能给我带来好运。

父母也会像孩子们那样经历各种阶段。有的父母会去尝试烹饪异国菜肴、学习乐器或是侍花弄草。在我提出壁炉上方的台子看起来有些空时，我爸妈正处在收藏艺术品的阶段。

我爸妈认同了我的看法。

几天以后，我们去参加了市区艺术画廊的一个拍卖会。那里就像一个博物馆，只不过地盘要小一些，而且所有物品均可出售。

妈妈说：“你要是看中了什么东西，就告诉我们。”

我在这个地方转来转去，没有什么真正能让我看上的东西，除了一块写着“小吃吧——楼上请”的标示牌。

我顺着楼梯爬上了夹层楼，里面已经摆好了一些小吃和饮料。我抓起一个小碟子，然后把一些胡萝卜条、圣女果、薯条和洋葱酱堆在碟子里。我倚在栏杆上，边吃边盯着在楼下展厅里走动的人们。很快，我就发现自己满口洋葱味。

我从口袋里掏出一包薄荷糖时，不小心把我的兔脚钥匙链也带了出来。

还没等我反应过来发生了什么事情，我的幸运兔脚就从栏杆上方掉了下去，坠向一个紫黄相间、点缀着波浪线的小花瓶。我很担心它会砸到花瓶，使花瓶从底座上掉下来。就在我想象着那只花瓶碎了一地的情景时，钥匙链不偏不倚地掉进了花瓶里。

我松了一口气。

有那么一小会儿，我想就让那只兔脚留在花瓶里好了——算是送给花瓶买主的小惊喜。但因为它是我目前的最爱，没有它我会觉得不吉利，我还是跑下楼准备把它“救”出来。

我环顾四周，发现没人看到我这边的状况，也没人盯着我。我把花瓶倒过来，轻轻地晃了晃。什么都没掉出来。这让我想到有时候硬币卡在我的小猪存钱罐里的情形。我的幸运兔脚有可能以一个奇怪的角度卡在花瓶里面了。我又试着晃了晃，还是什么都没有掉出来。endprint

我卷起袖子，把手伸进花瓶里，就像我从厨房水池的排水管里摸索着帮妈妈找她的一只耳环一样（这事儿我常干，比你可能想象得到的次数还要多）。

我两根手指夹着一点假兔毛，把手往出拔。好吧，我是试图把手拔出来。

我又偷偷地朝四周瞅了一眼。所有人都在忙着看艺术品，没人看我。

我又试着拔出手，但手被卡住了。

我站在一家艺术画廊的中央，手被卡在了一只昂贵的花瓶里。也许是因为压力和尴尬，我的手变肿了。

我一点都不喜欢接下来听到的话。

“女士们，先生们，现在让我们开始拍卖这些精美的艺术作品和手工艺品吧。”

我希望拍卖师从远处靠近入口的墙上挂着的那些画开始拍卖。

“我们从放在地上的作品开始吧。我们的第一件拍卖品是一只具有新艺术风格的花瓶。”

惨了。

所有人都向我走来，包括我爸妈。我站在那里一动不动，闭上了眼睛。

随即，拍卖师不说话了。展厅里一下子静了下来。我睁开眼睛，看到展厅里的所有人都在盯着我。

“你在干什么？”爸爸问。

没有什么比实情听起来更令人难以置信了。“我的手被卡住了。”

“噢，马克！”妈妈叫道。

众人都倒抽了一口气。

“我没事。”我说。

爸爸侧身靠近拍卖师，在他耳边低语了几句。

拍卖师点点头，说：“既然现在看来这个花瓶还附赠一位满脸通红的年轻人，有人反对让他的父母以合理的价格买下这件拍卖品吗？”

我听到一些人在笑，为一只附赠了我的花瓶进行喊价这个念头逗乐了他们。但幸运的是，没有人出价。

“那就卖给这位，呃，幸运年轻人的父母啦！”

等我们回到家，而我也放松了许多时，爸爸往花瓶里滴了几滴植物油，我的手这才可以抽出来。

事实上，这个花瓶摆在我家壁炉上方的平台上看起来真不错。我曾一度认为我的兔脚并没那么幸运，但转念又想：它本来还可以掉进一个与我们家的墙纸完全不搭的花瓶里的！

1. rabbit's foot： 兔脚。在一些西方国家的文化中，兔脚是一种护身符，被认为可以带来好运。

2. mantle [?m?ntl] n.【冶】（高炉的）环壳。这里指壁炉上方的平台。

3. mezzanine [?mez?ni?n] n. 夹楼，夹层楼面（指两层楼之间的楼面，尤指一楼和二楼之间的楼面）

4. dip [d?p] n. 沙司，蘸酱；vt. 把（手等）伸入

5. railing [?re?l??] n. 栏杆

6. mint [m?nt] n. 薄荷糖

7. squiggly [?skw?ɡli] adj. 呈波形曲线的

8. pedestal [?ped?stl] n. （花瓶等的）座墩

9. fad [f?d] n. （一时的）狂热

10. stage [ste?d?] vt. 筹划，谋划

11. lodge [l?d?] vt. 把……嵌入

12. fish [f??] vt. 摸找，搜寻

13. Art Nouveau： <法>新艺术，约1890～1910年间流行于欧洲和美国的一种装饰艺术风格，以曲折有致的线条为特色，主要体现于建筑、室内装饰和插图艺术。

14. gasp [ɡɑ?sp] vi. 倒抽气

译 / 李笑endprint