家破何歸

　　巴黎八月的天氣依然十分炎熱。
　　由午睡裏醒來，她記起了父親的諾言：午睡後大家來吃桃子。於是她下床走到桌子旁邊，跟她父親對面坐下。
　　父親告訴她，他的年齡是三十六歲，但在與六歲的她對面一比較，似乎顯得特別蒼老。圍繞在他嘴巴四周的是一大把紅褐色的鬍子；這麼多的鬍子，是她所未曾見過的。他兩臂也長滿長毛，上身穿一件藍白條的運動衫，下面是藍色工褲，沒有穿襪，也沒有穿鞋；這跟她在紐約所見的人們，都穿襯衫，打領帶，外加上衣的情形大不相同。也許就是這一點，使她對父親感到興趣；要不然，這人除了實質上是她父親以外，對她是完全陌生的。
　　自然，他們從前曾一起生活過；但現在她已經忘記了。這一次她來到巴黎他的家—如果這裏可算是一個家—很可能有個較長時間的共聚，但也可能只是今昨兩日就結束。
　　今天早上，當他帶她在附近蹓躂的時候，她的眼睛停留在水果攤前面的一箱桃子上；他就給她買了一公斤桃子。現在他們在屋裏對坐著，七個桃子，放在當中大盤子裏，顆顆絳紅可愛。只有一顆較小的桃子，在果蒂處綻開了一條裂縫，深到桃核。他揀了最大而又最美的一顆放在她的面前；然後自己取了那顆裂了口的小桃子，慢慢的剝去薄皮，剝了將近一半時，他開始吃著。兩個人都沒有說話。忽然，他呆望著手裏已經吃了半邊的桃子。她也不禁俯過身來，向那隻桃子瞧著。
　　在露出半邊的桃核上有個小洞，先是兩條細小的觸鬚由洞裏伸出來；接著，在觸鬚後面來了個褐色而有環節的頭；再跟著是兩支強有力的腿抓住了洞口。它停了一會兒，似在察看外面的新世界。
　　他跟她也都聚精會神的注視這位桃核裏的居民。它現在開始爬出洞口，沿著吃過的一邊桃肉緩緩爬行。小女孩子似乎從未見過這種活潑潑的帶褐色有觸鬚和數不清的腳的動物。他把桃子放回大盤子去，那小動物爬離桃子後，就到了盤子上面，停住不動。
　　“它是誰？”小女孩問。
　　“葛絲通。”
　　“它住在哪裏？”
　　“常常是住在桃核裏。可是現在這顆桃子被摘下來出售，而且讓我吃去了半邊，這樣，它就無家可歸了。”
　　“你要把它弄死嗎？”
　　“不，我為甚麼要弄死它？”
　　“它是蟲子啊！”
　　“不，它是葛絲通，偉大的離家游子。”
　　“看見蟲子由蘋果裏爬出來，人們都會驚叫的，你怎麼不害怕？”
　　“自然不。如果外面每次由屋裏出來，人們就大驚大叫，你說我們會高興嗎？”
　　“他們會對你驚叫？”
　　“一點不錯。所以，你說我們對這小蟲該驚叫嗎？”
　　“它跟我們不同呀！”
　　“它也是生物啊！而現在它失去了可愛的家了。”
　　“它現在怎麼辦？”
　　“我可不知道！”
　　“我們不要弄死它，這是我們可以幫助它的一件事。 是嗎？”小女孩說。
　　“我們還能作些甚麼？”
　　“把它放回桃核裏去？”
　　“不，它的家已經毀了。”
　　“它可以住在我們的家裏嗎？”
　　“它不會快樂的。我想它一定會哭。你吃一顆桃子吧！”
　　“我要吃核裏有小蟲的桃子。”
　　“好，我們找找看；如果蒂上有裂口的，就會有小傢伙在裏邊。”
　　女孩在盤裏細選那些桃子：“都沒有裂口的呢！”
　　“那你就隨便吃一隻吧！”
　　“不，我要吃你剛才吃的那種桃子。”
　　“好，我跟你說真話：這種有小傢伙的桃子不是好桃子，所以店裏早就揀掉了，剛才我吃的，可能是偶然碰到的一顆。現在這剩下的六顆都是好的。你吃吧！”
　　“我不要吃好的桃子，我要有小傢伙的！”
　　“好吧！我們去看看，是不是可以再找到一顆。”
　　“到哪兒去？”
　　“你要不要跟我一道去？或者你在這裏等我？我只要五分鐘就回來。”
　　“假如有電話來我該怎麼說？”
　　“不會有電話的。呃，假如真的有電話，你先問看，是誰打來的。”
　　“要是媽打來的呢？”
　　“你就告訴她，我替你買桃子去了；還有要說甚麼你自己說吧。”
　　“要是她要我回去，我該怎麼講？”
　　“如果你想回去，你就告訴她。”
　　“你願意我回去嗎？”
　　“自然不！但最重要的還是你自己願意怎麼樣，而不是我願意你怎麼樣。知道嗎？”
　　“為甚麼那是最重要的呢？”
　　“因為我願你喜歡在哪裏就在那裏，不要勉強。”
　　“我要在這裏。”
　　“好，那我馬上就回來。”
　　他穿上鞋襪出去了。她看著盤裏的小蟲；它正繞著盤子爬行。離開了桃核它似乎一切都不對勁，不知道怎麼辦才好。
　　電話鈴響了。是她媽媽的電話。她媽媽說，已經叫司機開車來接她，要她去參加一個小同伴的小派對，然後明早一起飛返紐約。
　　“讓我跟你爸爸講話！”她媽媽在電話裏說。
　　“他出去買一個桃子。”
　　“一個桃子？”
　　“一個桃子帶著小傢伙的。”
　　“你跟你爸爸一起才不過兩天，就學得這樣像他。”
　　“很多桃子裏都有小傢伙的；我知道，我已經看見他們跑出來。”
　　“是小蟲嗎？”
　　“不是小蟲，是葛絲通。”
　　“誰？”
　　“葛絲通！偉大的離家游子。”
　　“有蟲的桃子還不扔掉！他是不是跟你在開玩笑？”
　　“不是開玩笑的！”
　　“好吧，好吧！不要為著有蟲的桃子跟我生氣了。”
　　“葛絲通還在這兒，在它毀了的屋子外邊。我沒有跟你生氣。”
　　“那個生日派對會使你快樂的。”
　　“好。”
　　“我們飛回紐約也會使你高興的。”
　　“好。”
　　“見過了你的爸爸，你是不是覺得高興？”
　　“當然，我很高興。”
　　“他很有趣嗎？”
　　“是的。”
　　“他有些瘋狂嗎？”
　　“是的。啊，不！他只是不怕桃子裏的小蟲等等。你說那是蟲子，是真的嗎？”
　　“完全是真的。”
　　“我們該把它弄死嗎？”
　　“沒錯，乖寶貝！你把我想壞了。這兩天，就跟兩年那麼長。回頭見吧！”
　　小女孩再看看盤子裏的葛絲通，現在她越看，越不喜歡它了。它是小蟲；它本來就是微不足道的小蟲，無家可歸的在盤子裏到處漫游，多愚笨，多可笑，多無用！蟲子是醜惡的，是不乾淨的東西。
　　父親回來了，手裏拿著兩隻桃子。
　　“媽來電話，她叫司機來，要我去參加一個小派對。”
　　“一個小派對？”
　　“是的。在紐約有許多這樣的小派對。”
　　“司機要帶你再回這裏來嗎？”
　　“不。我們明天要回紐約。”
　　“啊！”
　　“我喜歡你這裏。”
　　“我也喜歡你在這裏。”
　　“你為甚麼一個人住在這兒？”
　　“這是我的家呀！”
　　“很好的家；但跟我們的家有點不一樣。”
　　“我相信，是不一樣。”
　　“這有點像葛絲通的家。”
　　“葛絲通怎麼樣了？”
　　“我弄死了它。”
　　“真的？為甚麼？”
　　“人家都是要把蟲子打死的。”
　　“噢…喂，我替你找到了你要的桃子。”
　　“我不再要桃子了。”
　　“好。”
　　他開始替她整理行李，穿上衣衫。司機來了。他帶著她走出門外。他想緊緊的摟住她一會兒，但他沒有那樣作。最後僅僅握了握手，就像跟一個不大相識的人分別一樣。
　　注視著那寬大的轎車開走。他毫無目的的在街上漫游，漫游，有如方才在盤子裏的小蟲。

（原載The Atlantic Monthly, Feb. 1962. 佚名譯）

　　讀過這篇文章後，你有何感想？
　　建議你作些事：

1. 就本文的主題，作成一篇論文。
2. 就作者對本文的處理，照自己的意見，寫一篇評論。
3. 為本文寫一個結局，或“後記”，“二十年後”。
4. 照原文重譯。
5. 試析認文中與聖經有關的語句。
6. 把本文當作一個比喻。
7. 把本文改寫成自傳或見證。

GASTON William Saroyan（1908-1981）

Author of My Name Is Aram, My Heart's In The Highlands, The Human Comedy, and The Bicycle Rider In Beverly Hills. William Saroyan has been writing since he was thirteen years old and has published almost forty books and plays. He refused the Pulitzer Prize for The Time Of Your Life but accepted the Drama Critics Circle Award for the same play "because there was no money involved."

They were to eat peaches, as planned, after her nap, and now she sat across from the man who would have been a total stranger except that he was in fact her father. They had been together again （although she couldn't quite remember when they had been together before） for almost a hundred years now, or was it only since day before yesterday? Anyhow, they were together again, and he was kind of funny. First, he had the biggest mustache she had ever seen on anybody, although to her it was not a mustache at all; it was a lot of red and brown hair under his nose and around the ends of his mouth. Second, he wore a blue-and-white striped jersey instead of a shirt and tie, and no coat. His arms were covered with the same hair, only it was a little lighter and thinner. He wore blue slacks, but no shoes and socks, He was barefoot, and so was she, of course.
He was at home. She was with him in his home in Paris, if you could call it a home. He was very old, especially for a young man—thirty-six, he had told her; and she was six, just up from sleep on a very hot afternoon in August.
That morning, on a little walk in the neighbor-hood, she had seen peaches in a box outside a small store and she had stopped to look at them, so he had bought a kilo.
Now, the peaches were on a large plate on the card table at which they sat.
There were seven of them, but one of them was flawed. It looked as good as others, almost the size of a tennis ball, nice red fading to light green, but where the stem had been there was now a break that went straight down into the heart of the seed.
He placed the biggest and best-looking peach on the small plate in front of the girl, and then took the flawed peach and began to remove the skin. When he had half the skin off the peach he ate that side, neither of them talking, both of them just being there, and not being excited or anything—no plans, that is.
The man held the half-eaten peach in his fingers and looked down into the cavity, into the open seed. The girl looked too.
While they were looking, two feelers poked out from the cavity. They were attached to a kind of brown knob-head, which followed the feelers, and then two large legs took a strong grip on the edge of the cavity and hoisted some of the rest of whatever it was out of the seed, and stopped there a moment, as if to look around.
The man studied the seed dweller, and so, of course, did the girl.
The creature paused only a fraction of a second, and then continued to come out of the seed, to walk down the eaten side of the peach to wherever it was going.
The girl had never seen anything like it—a whole big thing made out of brown color, a knob-head, feelers, and a great many legs. It was very active too. Almost businesslike, you might say. The man placed the peach back on the plate. The creature moved off the peach onto the surface of the white plate. There it came to a thoughtful stop.
"Who is it?" the girl said.
"Gaston."
"Where does he live?"
"Well, he used to live in this peach seed, but now that the peach has been harvested and sold, and I have eaten half of it, it looks as if he's out of house and home."
"Aren't you going to squash him?"
"No, of course not, why should I?"
"He is a bug. He is ugh."
"Not at all. He is Gaston the grand boulevardier."
"Everybody hollers when a bug comes out of an apple, but you don't holler or anything."
"Of course not. How should we like it if somebody hollered every time we came out of our house?"
"Why would they?"
"Precisely. So why should we holler at Gaston?"
"He is not the same as us."
"Well, not exactly, but he's the same as a lot of other occupants of peach seeds. Now, the poor fellow hasn't got a home, and there he is with all that pure design and handsome form, and no-where to go."
"Handsome?"
"Gaston is just about the handsomest of his kind I've ever seen."
"What's he saying?"
"Well, he's a little confused. Now, inside that house of his he had everything in order. Bed here, porch there, and so forth."
"Show me."
The man picked up the peach, leaving Gaston entirely alone on the white plate. He removed the peeling and ate the rest of the peach.
"Nobody else I know would do that," the girl said. "They'd throw it away."
"I can't imagine why. It's a perfect good peach."
He opened the seed and placed the two sides not far from Gaston. The girl studied the open halves.
"Is that where he lives?"
"It's where he used to live. Gaston is out in the world and on his own now. You can see for yourself how comfortable he was in there. He had everything."
"Now what has he got?"
"Not very much, I'm afraid."
"What's he going to do?"
"What are we going to do?"
"Well, we're not going to squash him, that's one thing we're not going to do," the girl said.
"What are we going to do, then?"
"Put him back?"
"Oh, that house is finished."
"Well, he can't live in our house, can he?"
"Not happily."
"Can he live in our house at all?"
"Well, he could try, I suppose. Don't you want to eat a peach?"
"Only if it's a peach with somebody in the seed."
"Well, see if you can find a peach that has an opening at the top, because if you can, that'll be a peach in which you're likeliest to find somebody."
The girl examined each of the peaches on the big plate.
"They're all shut," she said.
"Well, eat one, then."
"No. I want the same kind that you ate, with somebody in the seed."
"Well, to tell you the truth, the peach I ate would be considered a bad peach, so of course stores don't like to sell them. I was sold that one by mistake, most likely. And so now Gaston is without a home, and we've got six perfect peaches to eat."
"I don't want a perfect peach. I want a peach with people."
"Well, I'll go out and see if I can find one."
"Where will I go?"
"You'll go with me, unless you'd rather stay. I'll only be five minutes."
"If the phone rings, what shall I say?"
"I don't think it'll ring, but if it does, say hello and see who it is."
"If it is my mother, what shall I say?"
"Tell her I've gone to get you a bad peach, and anything else you want to tell her."
"If she wants me to go back, what shall I say?"
"Say yes if you want to go back."
"Do you want me to?"
"Of course not, but the important thing is what you want, not what I want."
"Why is that the important thing?"
"Because I want you to be where you want to be."
"I want to be here."
"I'll be right back."
He put on socks and shoes, and a jacket, and went out. She watched Gaston trying to find out what to do next. Gaston wandered around the plate, but everything seemed wrong and he didn't know what to do or where to go.
The telephone rang and her mother said she was sending the chauffeur to pick her up because there was a little party for somebody's daughter who was also six, and then tomorrow they would fly back to New York.
"Let me speak to your father," she said.
"He's gone to get a peach."
"One peach?"
"One with people."
"You haven't been with your father two days and already you sound like him."
"There are peaches with people in them. I know. I saw one of them come out."
"A bug?"
"Not a bug. Gaston."
"Who?"
"Gaston the grand something."
"Somebody get a peach with a bug in it, and throws it away, but not him. He makes up a lot of foolishness about it."
"It's not foolishness."
"All right, all right, don't get angry at me about a horrible peach bug of some kind."
"Gaston is right here, just outside his broken house, and I'm not angry at you."
"You'll have a lot of fun at the party."
"OK."
"We'll have fun flying back to New York, too."
"OK."
"Are you glad you saw your father?"
"Of course I am."
"Is he funny?"
"Yes."
"Is he crazy?"
"Yes. I mean, no. He just doesn't holler when he sees a bug crawling out of a peach seed or anything. He just looks at it carefully. But it is just a bug, isn't it, really?"
"That's all it is."
"And we have to squash it?"
"That's right. I can't wait to see you, darling. These two days have been like two years to me. Good-bye."
The girl watched Gaston on the plate, and she actually didn't like him. He was all ugh, as he had been in the first place. He didn't have a home anymore and he was wandering around on the white plate and he was silly and wrong and ridiculous and useless and all sorts of other things. She cried a little, but only inside, because long ago she had decided she didn't like crying because if you ever started to cry it seemed as if there was so much to cry about you almost couldn't stop, and she didn't like that at all. The open halves of the peach seed were wrong, too. They were ugly or something. They weren't clean.
The man bought a kilo of peaches but found no flawed peaches among them, so he bought another kilo at another store, and this time his luck was better, and there were two that were flawed. He hurried back to his flat and let himself in.
His daughter was in her room, in her best dress.
"My mother phoned," she said, "and she's sending the chauffeur for me because there's another birthday party."
"Another?"
"I mean, there's always a lot of them in New York."
"Will the chauffeur bring you back?"
"No. We're flying back to New York tomorrow."
"Oh."
"I liked being in your house."
"I liked having you here."
"Why do you live here?"
"This is my home."
"It's nice, but it's a lot different from our home."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"It's kind of like Gaston's house."
"Where is Gaston?"
"I squashed him."
"Really? Why?"
"Everybody squashes bugs and worms."
"Oh. Well. I found you a peach."
"I don't want a peach anymore."
"OK."
He got her dressed, and he was packing her stuff when the chauffeur arrived. He went down the three flights of stairs with his daughter and the chauffeur, and in the street he was about to hug the girl when he decided he had better not. They shook hands instead, as if they were strangers.
He watched the huge car drive off, and then he went around the corner where he took his coffee every morning, feeling a little, he thought, like Gaston on the white plate. （The Atlantic Monthly, Feb. 1962）