母亲的羽衣原文及翻译

母亲的羽衣原文

讲完了牛郎织女的故事，细看儿子已经垂睫睡去，女儿却犹自瞪着红红的眼睛。

忽然，她一把抱紧我的脖子把我赘得发疼：

"妈妈，你说，你是不是仙女变的？"

我一时愣住，只胡乱应道：

"你说呢？"

"你说，你说，你一定要说。"她固执地扳住我不放。"你到底是不是仙女变的？"

我是不是仙女变的？--哪一个母亲不是仙女变的？

像故事中的小织女，每一个女孩都曾住在星河之畔，她们织虹纺霓，藏云捉月，她们几曾烦心挂虑？她们是天神最偏怜的小女儿，她们终日临水自照，惊讶于自己美丽的羽衣和美丽的肌肤，她们久久凝注着自己的青春，被那份光华弄得痴然如醉。

而有一天，她的羽衣不见了，她换上了人间的粗布--她已经决定做一个母亲。有人说她的羽衣被锁在箱子里，她再也不能飞翔了。人们还说，是她丈夫锁上的，钥匙藏在极秘密的地方。

可是，所有的母亲都明白那仙女根本就知道箱子在那里，她也知道藏钥匙的所在，在某个无人的时候，她甚至会惆怅地开启箱子，用忧伤的目光抚摸那些柔软的羽毛，她知道，只要羽衣一着身，她就会重新回到云端，可是她把柔软白亮的羽毛拍了又拍，仍然无声无息地关上箱子，藏好钥匙。

是她自己锁住那身昔日的羽衣的。

她不能飞了，因为她已不忍飞去。

而狡黠的小女儿总是偷窥到那藏在母亲眼中的秘密。

许多年前，那时我自己还是小女孩，我总是惊奇地窥伺着母亲。

她在口琴背上刻了小小的两个字--"静鸥"，那里面有什么故事吗？那不是母亲的名字，却是母亲名字的谐音，她也曾梦想过自己是一只静栖的海鸥吗？她不怎么会吹口琴，我甚至想不起她吹过什么好听的歌，但那名字对我而言是母亲神秘的羽衣，她轻轻写那两个字的时候，她可以立刻变了一个人，她在那名字里是另外一个我所不认识的有翅的什么。

母亲晒箱子的时候是她另外一种异常的时刻，母亲似乎有些好些东西，完全不是拿来用的，只为放在箱底，按时年年在三伏天取出来暴晒。

记忆中母亲晒箱子的时候就是我兴奋欲狂的时候。

母亲晒些什么？我已不记得，记得的是樟木箱子又深又沉，像一个浑沌黝黑初生的宇宙，另外还记得的是阳光下竹竿上富丽夺人的颜色，以及怪异却又严肃的樟脑味，以及我在母亲喝禁声中东摸摸西探探的快乐。

我唯一真正记得的一件东西是幅漂亮的湘绣被面，雪白的缎子上，绣着兔子和翠绿的小白莱，和红艳欲滴的小杨花萝卡，全幅上还绣了许多别的令人惊讶赞叹的东西，母亲一边整理，一面会忽然回过头来说："别碰，别碰，等你结婚就送给你。"

我小的时候好想结婚，当然也有点害怕，不知为什么，仿佛所有的好东西都是等结了婚就自然是我的了，我觉得一下子有那么多好东西也是怪可怕的事。

那幅湘绣后来好像不知怎么就消失了，我也没有细问。对我而言，那么美丽得不近真实的东西，一旦消失，是一件合理得不能再合理的事。譬如初春的桃花，深秋的枫红，在我看来都是美丽得违了规的东西，是茫茫大化一时的错误，才胡乱把那么多的美推到一种东西上去，桃花理该一夜消失的，不然岂不教世人都疯了？

湘绣的消失对我而言简直就是复归大化了。

但不能忘记的是母亲打开箱子时那份欣悦自足的表情，她慢慢地看着那幅湘绣，那时我觉得她忽然不属于周遭的世界，那时候她会忘记晚饭，忘记我扎辫子的红绒绳。她的姿势细想起来，实在是仙女依恋地轻抚着羽衣的姿势，那里有一个前世的记忆，她又快乐又悲哀地将之一一拾起，但是她也知道，她再也不会去拾起往昔了--唯其不会重拾，所以回顾的一刹那更特别的深情凝重。

除了晒箱子，母亲最爱回顾的是早逝的外公对她的宠爱，有时她胃痛，卧在床上，要我把头枕在她的胃上，她慢慢地说起外公。外公似乎很舍得花钱（当然也因为有钱），总是带她上街去吃点心，她总是告诉我当年的肴肉和汤包怎么好吃，甚至煎得两面黄的炒面和女生宿舍里早晨订的冰糖豆浆（母亲总是强调"冰糖"豆浆，因为那是比"砂糖"豆浆为高贵的）都是超乎我想象力之外的美味，我每听她说那些事的时候，都惊讶万分--我无论如何不能把那些事和母亲联想在一起，我从有记忆起，母亲就是一个吃剩菜的角色，红烧肉和新炒的蔬菜简直就是理所当然地放在父亲面前的，她自已的面前永远是一盘杂拼的剩菜和一碗"擦锅饭"（擦锅饭就是把剩饭在炒完菜的剩锅中一炒，把锅中的菜汁都擦干净了的那种饭），我简直想不出她不吃剩菜的时候是什么样子。

而母亲口里的外公，上海、南京、汤包、肴肉全是仙境里的东西，母亲每讲起那些事，总有无限的温柔，她既不感伤，也不怨叹，只是那样平静地说着。她并不要把那个世界拉回来，我一直都知道这一点，我很安心，我知道下一顿饭她仍然会坐在老地方吃那盘我们大家都不爱吃的剩菜。而到夜晚，她会照例一个门一个窗地去检点去上闩。她一直都负责把自己牢锁在这个家里。

哪一个母亲不曾是穿着羽衣的仙女呢？只是她藏好了那件衣服，然后用最黯淡的一件粗布把自己掩藏了，我们有时以为她一直就是那样的。

而此刻，那刚听完故事的小女儿鬼鬼地在窥伺着什么？

她那么小，她何由得知？她是看多了卡通，听多了故事吧？她也发现了什么吗？

是在我的集邮本偶然被儿子翻出来的那一刹那吗？是在我拣出石涛画册或汉碑并一页页细味的那一刻吗？是在我猛然回首听他们弹一阕熟悉的钢琴练习曲的时候吗？抑是在我带他们走过年年的春光，不自主地驻足在杜鹃花旁或流苏树下的一瞬间吗？

或是在我动容地托往父亲的勋章或童年珍藏的北平画片的时候，或是在我翻拣夹在大字典里的干叶之际，或是在我轻声的教他们背一首唐诗的时候……

是有什么语言自我眼中流出呢？是有什么音乐自我腕底泻过吗？为什么那小女孩地问道：

"妈妈，你是不是仙女变的呀？"

我不是一个和千万母亲一样安分的母亲吗？我不是把属于女孩的羽衣收招得极为秘密吗？我在什么时候泄漏了自己呢？

在我的书桌底下放着一个被人弃置的木质砧板，我一直想把它挂起来当一幅画，那真该是一幅庄严的，那样承受过万万千千生活的刀痕和凿印的，但不知为什么，我一直也没有把它挂出来……

天下的母亲不都是那样平凡不起眼的一块砧板吗？不都是那样柔顺地接纳了无数尖锐的割伤却默无一语的砧板吗？

而那小女孩，是凭什么神秘的直觉，竟然会问我：

"妈妈？你到底是不是仙女变的？"

我掰开她的小手，救出我被吊得酸麻的脖子，我想对她说：

"是的，妈妈曾经是一个仙女，在她做小女孩的时候，但现在，她不是了，你才是，你才是一个小小的仙女！"

但我凝注着她晶亮的眼睛，只简单地说了一句：

"不是，妈妈不是仙女，你快睡觉。"

"真的？"

"真的！"

她听话地闭上了眼睛，旋又不放心睁开。

"如果你是仙女，也要教我仙法哦！"

我笑而不答，替她把被子掖好，她兴奋地转动着眼珠，不知在想什么。

然后，她睡着了。

故事中的仙女既然找回了羽衣，大约也回到云间去睡了。

风睡了，鸟睡了，连夜也睡了。

我守在两张小床之间，久久凝视着他们的睡容。

母亲的羽衣翻译

Finished the story, at the son has vertical ciliary sleep, the daughter is while staring at the eyes are red.

Suddenly, she clasped my neck the ache I tag:

"Mom, you said, you is it right? Fairy change?"

I was shocked, just casually replied:

"You say?"

"You say, you say, you must say."She stubbornly lingering on my on."What the hell is it right? Fairy change?"

Is it right? I fairy change?- what a mother is not fairy change?

Like the story of the little girl weaver, every girl had lived in the galaxy River, they weave rainbow neon cloud spinning, reservoirs and months, they had upset about?They are the deity most partial flow little daughter, they all water from light, surprised at the beautiful plumage and beautiful skin, they can watch their youth, was the Guanghua made fool such as drunk.

One day, her plumage is missing, she changed the world coarse - she has decided to become a mother.Someone said that her clothes were locked in the box, she cannot fly.They also say, her husband is locked, the key stored in the highly secret place.

However, all mothers know that fairy would know where the box there, she also knew that hid the key place, in a no time, she even melancholy open box with sad eyes, touch the soft feathers, she knew, as long as one body plumage, she would return to the cloud, but she put her soft white feathers shoot and shoot, soundless and stirless still shut the box, hide the keys.

She locked her former plumage.

She can't fly, because she has to fly.

And sly little daughter always peeks into the hidden in the mother's secret.

Many years ago, when I was a little girl, I am always surprised to watch for mother.

She was the harmonica back engraved two little words - "static gull", there is the story of what?It is not the mother's name, but the mother first name harmonic tone, she had dreamed of oneself is a sedentary Gull?She don't know how to play harmonica, I didn't even remember her over like a song, but that name is my mother mysterious Hagoromo, she wrote the two words, she immediately changed a person, her name is another one I do not know have wing what.

Mother in the box when she is another kind of anomaly time, mother seems to be some better thing, is not used, just to put in the time in three days, year after year out exposure.

Memory of mother in the box was I excited to mad when.

Mothers in some what?I don't remember, remember the camphorwood box is deep and heavy, like a chaos dark born universe, in addition to remember is the sun on the top of the pole and wealthy people of color, as well as strange and solemn camphor smell, as well as my mother drank in silence the Middle East touch West sound.

The only thing that I really remember a thing is beautiful embroidery Beimian, white satin, embroidered with rabbit and small white lime green, and red color of small police Luoka, the whole site also embroidered many other surprising exclamatory thing, mother side finishing, a suddenly back: "don't touch, touch, and get married to you."

I want to marry, but a little afraid, I do not know why, like all the good stuff is married it is my, I think all of a sudden there are so many good stuff is frightful.

The embroidery was later seemed somehow disappeared, I will not ask.For me, so beautiful to be close to the real thing, once lost, is a reasonable couldn't be more reasonable.For example, the peach blossom spring, late autumn red maple, in my view is beautiful broke the code of things, is the big mistake, just casually put so much beauty to push a something up, peach blossom should vanish overnight, or not teach the world all mad?

It disappeared for me is simply the return of large.

But never forget is his mother opened a box when the Xinyue self-sufficient expression, she slowly looked at the people, then I think she suddenly does not belong to the world around them, then she will forget dinner, forget my pigtails and red velvet rope.Her posture come to think of it, it is the fairy attachment holding and posture, there is a past life memories, she was happy and sorrow to the one one pick up, but she knows, she never went to pick up the past -- only its never regain, so while the review more particularly affectionate dignified.

In addition to drying box, mother's love is young grandpa back to her love, she sometimes stomach pain, lying in bed, will I put my head on her stomach, she slowly about grandpa.Grandpa seems willing to spend money （also because of the rich）， always take her to Shangjie to eat snacks, she always told me that meat and soup how delicious, even two yellow fried chow mein and girl student dormitory in the morning Book rock candy soya-bean milk （mother always stressed that "rock candy" bean paste, because that is the ratio of "sugar" soybean as noble） is beyond my imagination and delicious, I heard her say those things were very surprised, -- I in any case not put those things and mother to associate, from my memory, my mother is a leftover dish role, pork and fried vegetables it is on the behoove in front of his father, her own front is always an inhomogenous leftovers and a bowl of "wipe pot rice" （wipe pot rice is put the leftovers in fried dishes left pan fried, put the pot in the vegetable juice are wiped clean of the meal, I） can't she do not eat leftovers of time is what appearance.

While the mother mouth Grandpa, Shanghai, Nanjing, soup, meat is full of Wonderland, mother each about those things, there is always infinite tender, she was not sad, don't complain, just as spoke calmly.She did not put the world back, I always knew this, I was so relieved, I know where the next meal she will sit in the old place to eat the dish we all do not eat leftovers.By night, she as a door and a window to check to latch.She has been responsible for himself locked in the house.

What a mother does not have is wearing a feathered fairy?She tucked away the clothes, and then use the most dull a coarse cloth to hide, we sometimes think that she has always been so.

And now, it just after hearing stories of little daughter ghost in the watch for?

She is so small, she learned what by?She is the only cartoon, listen to the story?She also discovered what?

In my album caught the son turned out that moment?In my spare Shi Tao album or genealogical and pages to savor the moment?When I look back to hear them play one familiar piano training time?Or I take them through the annual spring, involuntary stay in Rhododendron paravertebral or tassel tree for a moment?

Or in my power to support to the father's medals or childhood collection of Peiping pictures when I turned up, or in the clip in a big dictionary of stem leaf during, or in me to teach them to recite a poem when……

What is language ego eyes?What music self wrist end down through?The little girl asked why:

Mom, is it right? "You fairy change?"

I am not a million mother good mother?I do not belong to the girl and the collection of bills to be extremely secret?When I was out for yourself?

On my desk stood a were abandoned wooden chopping board, I always want to hang it up when a painting, it was a solemn, that suffered thousands of lives and chisel marks printed, but I do not know why, I never put it out……

Mothers are not so ordinary ordinary chopping board?Are not as supple as numerous sharp cuts but silent word block?

And the little girl, is a mystical intuition, should ask me:

Mom?What is it right? Fairy change?"

I break off her hands, saved I was hanging limp and numb neck, I want to say to her:

"Yes, mom was a fairy, in her young girl, but now, she is not, you are, you are a little fairy!"

But I watch her bright eyes, simply say:

"No, mom is not a fairy, you go to sleep."

"Really?"

"Really!"

She is obedient to shut his eyes, and do not trust open.

"If you are a fairy, but also teach me immortal law oh!"

I only smiled but did not reply, for she tuck, she was so excited that she rolled her eyes, did not know what I was thinking.

Then, she fell asleep.

In the story of fairy since back plumage, probably back to the clouds go to sleep.

The wind slept, slept the night bird, also sleep.

I stood two little beds, behold their sleeping capacity.