手纺车_参考网

手纺车

2018-05-22魏钟毓

英语学习 2018年4期

魏钟毓

Fire is burning up the paper spinning wheel. In a flash， an old spinning wheel begins to drift like butterflies fluttering1 into my memory.

The old spinning wheel once belonged to Grandma.

It was really old， as old as some withered artifacts in a museum or of an out-of-date story.2 Its hand rocker arm was rubbed smooth and bright， which could show its long life.

Grandma told me the spinning wheel was the dowry3 her mother gave her. Before Grandma got married in 1925， her mother repeated what she had always exhorted4： A woman who cant spin isnt a real woman.

So Grandma spun her life into the long thread with braided5 cords.

Grandma devoted most of her time to spinning whenever she was free from other domestic chores like cooking or cleaning. There was often buzzing from her room， like a drowsy lullaby，6 or an old and simple song. When I was a child， I liked to sit by Grandma on a wooden bench， watching her spin with my eyes fixed and my ears pricked7. Time had left its marks on her hands with horizontal and vertical wrinkles interlacing with each other， making them the witness of the elapse8. She lifted her big， roughened hand and flexibly moved back and forth through hundreds of intertwined threads.9

手紡车，一件镌刻在历史年轮的古老物件，是我曾祖母的青春嫁妆。它曾光彩熠熠，被视若珍宝；也曾遭群蚁啃噬，被戏谑玩笑。它是一代乡村女性的时代印记，承载着我曾祖母勤劳坚毅却注定黯淡无光的一生。昏黄的煤油灯下，嗡嗡的纺车声中，一位老人动情地叙说着她的故事，这是烙印在母亲儿时记忆中最温馨的画面。谨以此文献给我的曾祖母。

With her left foot treading on the wooden pedal in a certain rhythm only known to herself， Grandma spun with the most exquisite skills.10 She was so proficient11 in spinning as if her hands were full of magic—all the seemingly complex sewing and threading was an easy task for her. Without lifting her eyes or pausing her work， Grandma often told me stories as old as her wrinkly face. She said a woman should follow rules and should not take chances or run about madly. She particularly enjoyed talking about her glamorous12 youth and good old days like how she could spin a lot of thread and finished a delicate piece of cloth overnight， how people around were impressed and how she was credited as a handy and competent girl. She had always been a woman so industrious that she hurled herself at13 life with an energy that made her seem always at work， like the ceaseless running spinning wheel.

There was a gleam in her eyes. The satisfaction and pride often lighted her face， declaring that she had been what she was supposed to be “a real woman”.

From time to time， she grumbled14 about Mothers inability to use the wheel and kept complaining about my maternal grandmothers irresponsibility. Grandma burdened my little heart with a weighty promise： “When you get married， Ill send the spinning wheel to you！” As a child， it exhilarated me thinking about my own wedding and my mind went buoyant.15 Then my young thoughts drifted here and there， floating wildly with the moving wheel.

Grandma usually spun at night under the light of a kerosene lamp16. The dim light often made her eyes painful and tearful while her hands kept working and her foot kept stamping17. I could see that her back stooped18 over and head tilted as she spun under the lamp. Her silhouette， like a sculpture， even haunted me the moment I recalled the dormant memories.19 As a child， I considered the wheel and her hands mysterious and I always did my arithmetic20 homework with the company of that buzzing sound.

However， I grew up and found myself enlightened by the fact that my world was expanding and new options were opening for me. I realized that a big outer world was waiting for me to explore while Grandma， who was in her seventies， was seeing her world shrink and her energy lessen. I found the sound flowing from the radio much more pleasant than the buzzing sound of that spinning wheel. I felt a fleeting21 annoyance whenever Grandma knocked at my door eager to share her repeated， boring stories of her old days. Without lifting my eyes or pausing my homework， I declined her invitation and told her that I was busy studying.

Time spun like that wheel. Grandma was eightyfour， too old to walk and let the wheel sing that old and simple song. Her eyes deteriorated22 as she aged. Unwittingly， her eyes would be imbued with tears for no reason.23 Sometimes she groped with her hands touching the wall and her walking stick bumping up against the skirting board24， eager to find her spinning wheel. And after she successfully groped for her destination， she would sit on the old wooden bench silently， for a long time. As she kept losing her sight， she became so feeble25 that she had to stay in bed or sit under the sun. So the spinning wheel became a lonely hermit26， staying under a window in the west house without visitors. Before long， a group of hateful white ants made a home in it.

In the summer of 1985， Father bought a new sewing machine and wondered where to place it. Then we thought of the place where the spinning wheel stood. I voluntarily broke the wheel into wooden pieces and tossed them onto the piles of firewood in the kitchen.

My Grandma was ill in bed at that time， but eventually she discovered the wheels whereabouts27. How she burst out in fury！ Her hollow eyes glared with disbelief， her thin chin thrust with anger.28 She lay in bed， too shocked and irritated to utter a word. Then she exhaled all the pent-up anger and exclaimed in a hoarse voice， half crying， “Why did you ruin it？”29

“Its too old and useless.” We tried to explain，“Theres no space for it.”

Her anger quickly subsided into untold melancholy.30 “You can repair it； you can use it when you get married.” I was startled at her remark which reminded me of the heavy promise.

“Grandma， we dont need to use that spinning wheel you know. Nowadays， shops are full of polyester fiber31... Now Im studying. Someday I might go out to the big outer world.”

“Big outer world？” Grandmas face was filled with wonder.

She would never know.

Grandmas anger and despair were incomprehensible32 to me years ago. I had always believed in a naive conviction33 that age and depression could be overcome by a simple encouragement. I tried to convince her that by the time I got married， I could just simply buy smart clothes in supermarkets without any trouble. Yet I failed to realize that life ahead of her was never a big， new world， but the unchanging stony earth. A poor village.

In 1987， Grandma died of old age and perhaps the incurable depression at losing the spinning wheel. A year later， our family moved to a bigger county， leaving the poor village behind.

Now， living in a bigger city where spinning wheels have become extinct， I often recall my Grandma， that haunting image of her spinning under the dim light， that branded34 silhouette. A stinging guiltiness and gloom seized me whenever I thought of breaking her beloved wheel.35

Twenty years have passed since Grandma passed away. Nearly every tomb sweeping festival， my parents will go back to the village where she is buried. I go back with them sometimes. Now， here I am again， to see her. I follow the local customs and burn some paper money， a paper house， and a paper spinning wheel.

The spinning wheel burns into ashes. The smoke stings my eyes. I bewail36 the fact that she spun her whole life and dreams into that wheel. A life without glamour or affluence. A life so mundane without sparkles of uniqueness. A life shared by thousands of common rural women who have buried their youth in illiteracy and impoverishment.37

Then the sound of buzzing comes. Yes， its her， a real woman. Grandma is still spinning， with her painful eyes filled with tears.

1. flutter：飘动，翩翩飞舞。

2. withered：枯萎的，凋谢的；artifact：人工制品，手工艺品。

3. dowry：嫁妆。

4. exhort：规劝，告诫。

5. braided：编织的。

6. drowsy：昏昏欲睡的；lullaby：摇篮曲，催眠曲。

7. 儿时，我喜欢坐在奶奶身旁的一把木凳子上，目不转睛地看着她纺线，倾耳细听。prick ones ears：竖起耳朵。

8. 奶奶的手上，一条条皱纹纵横交错，印记着岁月的流逝。interlace：交织；elapse：消逝。

9. roughen：变粗糙；interwine：缠绕。

10. pedal：踏板；exquisite：精致的，细腻的。

11. proficient：精通的，熟练的。