E. B. 怀特

【导读】E. B. 怀特（1899—1985），美国当代著名小说家、散文家，《纽约客》（The New Yorker）专职撰稿人。1971年获美国“国家文学奖章”，1978年获普利策特别文艺奖，代表作《夏洛的网》（Charlottes Web，1952）、《精灵鼠小弟》（Stuart Little，1945）等。

本文节选自怀特1942年出版的散文集《人各有异》（One Mans Meat）中的“再度游湖”（Once More to the Lake）一文。在文中，怀特回忆了自己8月盛夏带儿子重返缅因游湖的经历，并重温了自己儿时父亲带他夏日游湖的快乐记忆。除了描写盛夏的湖光山色，怀特还刻画了人们的夏日生活，有烈日下钓鱼、喝汽水、看海龟、喂鲈鱼的悠闲，也有燥热的夜晚难以入眠的苦恼，还有雷阵雨中游泳嬉戏的畅快。夏日里似曾相识的炎热与激情，使怀特将自己幼时与父亲的游湖经历和现在带儿子游湖的经历交织在了一起，这不仅是怀特对往昔歲月的追忆，也是他对亲情的深刻感悟。

Summertime， oh summertime， pattern of life indelible1， the fade- proof lake， the woods unshatterable， the pasture with the sweet fern and the juniper forever and ever， summer without end; this was the background， and the life along the shore was the design， the cottages with their innocent and tranquil design， their tiny docks with the flagpole and the American flag floating against the white clouds in the blue sky， the little paths over the roots of the trees leading from camp to camp and the paths leading back to the outhouses and the can of lime for sprinkling， and at the souvenir counters at the store the miniature birch-bark canoes and the post cards that showed things looking a little better than they looked. This was the American family at play， escaping the city heat， wondering whether the newcomers at the camp at the head of the cove were “common” or “nice，” wondering whether it was true that the people who drove up for Sunday dinner at the farmhouse were turned away because there wasnt enough chicken.

We had a good week at the camp. The bass were biting well and the sun shone endlessly， day after day. We would be tired at night and lie down in the accumulated heat of the little bedrooms after the long hot day and the breeze would stir almost imperceptibly outside and the smell of the swamp drift in through the rusty screens. Sleep would come easily and in the morning the red squirrel would be on the roof， tapping out his gay routine. I kept remembering everything， lying in bed in the mornings—the small steamboat that had a long rounded stern like the lip of a Ubangi2， and how quietly she ran on the moonlight sails， when the older boys played their mandolins and the girls sang and we ate doughnuts dipped in sugar， and how sweet the music was on the water in the shining night， and what it had felt like to think about girls then.

After breakfast we would go up to the store and the things were in the same place—the minnows3 in a bottle， the plugs and spinners disarranged and pawed over by the youngsters from the boys camp， the fig newtons and the Beemans gum. Outside， the road was tarred and cars stood in front of the store. Inside， all was just as it had always been， except there was more Coca Cola and not so much Moxie and root beer and birch beer and sarsaparilla. We would walk out with a bottle of pop apiece and sometimes the pop would backfire up our noses and hurt. We explored the streams， quietly， where the turtles slid off the sunny logs and dug their way into the soft bottom; and we lay on the town wharf and fed worms to the tame bass. Everywhere we went I had trouble making out which was I， the one walking at my side， the one walking in my pants.

One afternoon while we were there at that lake a thunderstorm came up. It was like the revival of an old melodrama that I had seen long ago with childish awe. The second-act climax of the drama of the electrical disturbance over a lake in America had not changed in any important respect. This was the big scene， still the big scene. The whole thing was so familiar， the first feeling of oppression and heat and a general air around camp of not wanting to go very far away. In mid-afternoon （it was all the same） a curious darkening of the sky， and a lull in everything that had made life tick; and then the way the boats suddenly swung the other way at their moorings with the coming of a breeze out of the new quarter， and the premonitory rumble. Then the kettle drum， then the snare， then the bass drum and cymbals， then crackling light against the dark， and the gods grinning and licking their chops in the hills. Afterward the calm， the rain steadily rustling in the calm lake， the return of light and hope and spirits， and the campers running out in joy and relief to go swimming in the rain， their bright cries perpetuating the deathless joke about how they were getting simply drenched， and the children screaming with delight at the new sensation of bathing in the rain， and the joke about getting drenched linking the generations in a strong indestructible chain. And the comedian who waded in carrying an umbrella.

夏日啊夏日，那生命中難以磨灭的印记，永远满湖清波，树木挺拔，草场遍布甜蕨和杜松，夏日仿佛永远不会结束。在这样的湖光山色中，湖滨沿岸的生活就成了别出心裁的设计，湖边小屋纯朴而宁静。小小的码头上立着旗杆，美国国旗在蓝天白云下迎风飘扬。小径跨越一个个树根，通向一座座营地，又折回户外厕所和用于喷洒的石灰罐。商店的纪念品柜台上摆放着桦树皮独木舟的微缩模型，还有明信片，明信片上的景物比实物看起来略好些。美国人会逃离城市的暑热，举家来此游玩，他们会琢磨湖湾顶头那块营地新来的游客是“有些粗俗的”还是“较好亲近的”，也会猜想是否真有人星期天晚上驱车前往农庄吃饭却因鸡肉不够而只得打道回府。……