深潜的父爱

By+Dan+Kadlec+译/佚名

Women were not supposed to die in childbirth, not anymore. It had taken 12 months, mesmerized by a helpless baby and numbed by her mothers death, but finally hed allowed himself to grieve properly. Sometimes though, it came back. Warm tears misted his cold dive mask. Lifting its seal he let sea water in, bathing his face, erasing the sadness. He took a long breath, jack-knifed and finned downward.

Ocean was up. Coarse sand patched tawny reef beneath. Strong groundswell sucked, sent the grains swirling. But he and little Lizzie had to eat and hed refused the dole. No, he and his small daughter could survive on his dive skills. Fresh fish, if not directly consumed, were straight cash-in-hand exchange or top barter—if he could find them. Today, surrounded by sandy soup, that wouldnt be easy.

Simple but effective, his Hawaiian sling. Pacific Islanders had used similar hand-spears for millennia. Firing rubber, looped between thumb and forefinger, got stretched along shaft, held, spear was aimed, released quickly.

Pinching nose, he kicked deeper. A large sweeps white-tipped tail showed, then vanished in the sand stir. He finned upward, heart thumping double-time. Cramp crimped one thigh. Two strenuous hours gone—no result. Hitting choppy surface, he spouted, sucked air and shivered. Wet suit was old, perforated, retained scant body heat, but Lizzie had priority over a new suit. Right now her principal need was nutrition. He must get a table fish. How his precious little blonde loved her fillets. Sometimes he thought only his love of, and the love from this child, kept him sane.

He dived again, into a gap in the reef. Here the sea surged inshore like a flooding irrigation channel. Swept over writhing bull kelp, he glided into pond-like environs. Reef now formed a barrier to the outside breakers. At last he had fair visibility. Far below lay a sponge-and-weed-matted overhang. This, he knew, concealed a cave-like ledge where, on turbulent days, fish sometimes congregated.

Once more he tilted downward, finning rhythmically. Awkward movement might spook his one chance for a hit. Closing on the overhang, he drifted beneath. In the deep green half-light his eyes adjusted on an easy target.

Two butterfish all but froze, lying nose to nose, tails fanned just enough to retain station against the reef wall. Butterfish werent prime eating but, at five kilos, the biggest meant many fish cakes. He fired—head shot, a clean kill.

Butterfish towed on his float-line, he swam shoreward. The surviving fish followed, shadowing, circling its dead mate, dreadful in its uncomprehending sorrow. He felt hollow as an empty shell.

An hour later that hollowness, like the southern oceans coldness, persisted. Hed begun to fillet. Lizzie was studying the process. Head barely as high as the low kitchen bench, Lizzies own gaze met the fishs sightless one. Then, earnest sea-blue irises fixed upon her fathers, she asked, “Daddy, do fish cry?”

Life has its moments of truth. This was one.

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After a sober minute between himself and the fish, he asked, “Lizzie, you like baked beans, yeah?”

This didnt mean he would not cook the butterfish. Its life taken, it must be eaten. Simply, never again would he spear one fish of a mating pair.

Lizzies face frowned in contemplation before she replied, “But beans make me fart.” The pronouncements solemnity, and the way she sucked her bottom lip after making it, was pure comedy.

“Hmm alright,” he said with mock gruffness. “How about noodles?”

“Oh yes,” responded Lizzie, eyes shining like rock pools on a bright day. “I love noodles!” A smile to turn any sinner saintly. Lizzies slight arms encircled a thigh hardened by decades of driving swimfins against oceanic surge. Cuddling in she added, “But Daddy, I love you even lots more.”

In this moment a man, not a fish, found himself weeping.

女人不再死于难产，至少现在不会这样了。过了12个月——那无助的孩子让他无暇分心，她母亲的去世也让他丧失了感觉——他终于可以好好地伤心一回。不过有些时候，这些感觉总是不请自来。温热的泪水模糊了他冰冷的潜水镜。他移开眼罩，让海水灌进来，冲洗着自己的脸，抹去他的悲伤。他深吸一口气，屈身一跳，又向深处潜去。

海平面在上，由粗沙子累积而成的褐黄色礁石在下。强烈的涌浪卷着沙子，不停搅动。但是他和小莉齐必须填饱肚子，而他拒绝领取救济金。至少他和年幼的女儿还能依靠他的潜水技术糊口。如果他能捕到新鲜的鱼，除了能直接充当食材，还能卖钱或换取其他必需品。但在今天这“沙子汤”里，捕鱼可不是易事。

他的“夏威夷吊索”捕捉方式虽然简单但很有效。太平洋岛民千百年来一直沿用着这样持矛捕鱼的方式。拿出橡胶管，在拇指和食指之间打圈，紧紧拉伸矛轴，定住，瞄准，然后快速射出矛。

扣紧鼻子，他往海底更深处潜去。一个庞然大物布满白色斑点的尾巴晃过，随即消失在滚滚的沙尘之中。他尾随而去，心跳加快了一倍。一条腿抽筋了。紧张的两个小时过去了，一无所获。他浮出海面，大口吐着海水，深深吸气，浑身颤抖。他的潜水服又破又旧，不足以维持体温，但莉齐比新潜水服重要。现在她最需要的是营养。他必须捉到一桌子鱼。他最爱的金发小姑娘非常喜欢吃鱼。有时候他想，他和女儿之间这种相互的爱是让他保持理智的唯一原因。

他又朝着礁石缝里潜去。海水从这里灌注而入，形成巨大的水流。拨开那些不断扭动的巨藻，他滑入一个池塘状的地方。礁石成了抵挡外来侵略者的天然屏障。现在他终于可以看清眼前的景象了。在他下方有一块悬空的大石，上面满是海绵和海藻。他知道，这里必定掩藏着一处洞穴般的暗礁，在波涛汹涌的日子里，鱼儿有时会在这里聚集成群。

他有节奏地摆动腿部，又一次倾斜着身子往下潜，担心动作太大会把不可多得的猎物吓跑。他渐渐靠近那块石头，慢慢地移到下面。就着半明半暗的深绿色光线，他的目光锁定在一个唾手可得的目标上。

两条鲳鱼一动不动地停在那里，脸朝脸，在礁石前轻摆鱼尾以保持平衡。鲳鱼不是最主要的食材，不过，五公斤的大鲳鱼可以制作许多鱼饼。他瞄准射击——直中头部，干脆利落。

他用吊索拖着鲳鱼，向岸边游去。那条幸存下来的鲳鱼一路尾随，围着死去的伴侣绕圈，带着无法名状的悲哀。他感觉空落落的，犹如一个抽空的贝壳。

一个小时过去了，那种空虚感有如南海的寒冷般挥之不去。他开始去鱼骨，莉齐则在旁边观看。她的头刚好与厨房的矮凳齐高，目光正对着鲳鱼已经无法聚焦的瞳孔。接着，那对诚挚的海蓝色眼眸望向她爸爸，她问道：“爸爸，鱼会哭吗？”

生命中总有必须直面的时刻。这就是其中之一。

他沉重地盯着鲳鱼，一分钟以后，他问道：“莉齐，你喜欢吃烤豆，对吧？”

这并不意味着他不会烹煮那条鲳鱼。它已经失去了生命，只能被吃掉，但他再也不会让正在交配的一对鱼儿阴阳相隔了。

莉齐皱着眉头，若有所思，然后回答说：“但是吃了豆子会放屁。”她说这句话时的严肃语气，再加上说完以后咬着下嘴唇的模样实在喜感十足。

“嗯，好吧。”他装出一副勉为其难的表情说，“那面条怎么样？”

“噢，太好了。”莉齐回答说，眼睛明亮得如同晴天里的岩石区潮水潭，“我爱吃面条！”她的微笑足以让任何罪人改邪归正。她用小手紧紧地圈住爸爸那因为长年踩着海浪潜水而练就的结实大腿，说：“不过啊，爸爸，我更爱你呢。”

在那一瞬间，不是鱼，而是一个男人，哭了。

■ 有的父母有能力送孩子去欧洲，去迪士尼乐园，可孩子还是堕落了。有的父母住豪华别墅，孩子有车有游泳池，可孩子还是学坏了。其实，对于孩子，父母愿意花时间，愿意关注，就是世间无价之宝。请注册登录《高中生》·高考网（gaokao.hnjy.com.cn），看《父子俩》专程到机场坐上一天免费区间列车的欢乐。

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