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The kids are excited, the plumber said. He was tall and large and moved quickly. I was thankful for his efficiency.
孩子們都很激動。水管工說。他很高很壯，走路也快。我很感謝他這么有效率。
I'll be in the car, Mom said, letting herself out of the house. The screen door shut behind her with metallic resonance, as it had thousands of times. I didn't like letting her descend the steps on her own, but I knew, in this moment, she'd refuse help. I took the box she'd made for Carnie and followed the plumber to his car.
我在車里等你，然后媽媽就出去了。紗門像以前一樣關上的時候會發出巨大的金屬的響聲。我不想讓媽媽自己下樓梯，不過我知道現在她不想讓別人幫她。我拿著媽媽為卡尼準備的盒子跟著水管工走向他的車。
I'm always walking, Carnie sang, after midnight…
我午夜經常散步，卡尼唱著。
I couldn't look at Mom. I knew she was crying. I was relieved to see Carnie go, to have the burden of his welfare hoisted onto someone else's shoulders. But immediately I was brought back to the sadness of the moment, the fact that this represented a breaking-off point. There was an air of finality-my mother grieving in the car, our small home empty.
我不敢看媽媽。我知道她在哭。我感覺卡尼離開是種解脫，終于可以把照顧他的負擔丟給別人了。可是現在回想起來，那是個真正讓人心碎的日子。一切都已成定局，媽媽在車里難過，我們的家空了。
After the plumber pulled away, I walked through the house one last time. I could almost hear the place settling, breathing a sigh of relief, coming down from a high. Still, there was a palpable residue of our past lives, as if old gifts and parrot tirades had left their marks. I paused over my father's plastic fixes and things shaped by his hands that I couldn't take with me. Empty, the house reminded me of tombstone, a commemoration of my childhood.
水管工走了之后，我在房子里最后走了一圈。我甚至感到了這個房子如釋重負。這里仍然有我們過去生活的氣息，好像舊禮物和鸚鵡的長篇大論都留下了痕跡。我停在了那些帶不走的爸爸做的工具那。房子空了，可是她是我童年的紀念。
I joined Mom in the car. I imagined her stillness and set face belied inner fragility, as if beneath the crust lay a deep well of hurt. As I turned onto the highway, I saw her touch her shoulders, the place where Carnie had so often rested, his remembered weight now a phantom presence on her thinning bones.
我上了車。我想象著她呆呆地坐在那，假裝著堅強，就像堅硬的貝殼下面隱藏著最痛的傷痕。我開上高速公路的時候，我看見媽媽碰了一下肩膀，卡尼經常待在上面。他的重量從來沒有在媽媽瘦弱的肩膀上消失。
We've been driving toward home, for five hours. Ike has been in and out of naps. We pass a billboard that says, Jesus Is Watching.
我們已經往家開了5個小時了。艾克一直處于睡睡醒醒的狀態。我們路過了一個宣傳板，上面寫著“上帝在看著你”。
Jesus makes me nervous, Ike says. Jesus is a spy.
上帝讓我很緊張，他是一個間諜，艾克說。
I laugh and then pause, thinking how the statement would have made Mom uncomfortable. The night sets in and Ike gets quiet. I watch his eyes in the reaiview. I wonder what he is thinking about.
我笑了，然后想著如果媽媽聽見這句話她得多不舒服。天黑了，艾克也變安靜了。我從后視鏡里看著他的眼睛，想知道他在想什么。
Will you love me forever? I think to myself. Will you love me when I'm old? If I go crazy? Will you be embarrassed by me? Avoid my calls? Wash dishes when you talk to me on the phone, roll your eyes, lay the receiver down next to the cat?
你會永遠愛我嗎？我問我自己。我老了之后你也會愛我嗎？如果我瘋了呢？你會以我為恥嗎？不接我的電話？或者接電話的時候在刷碗、揉眼睛，寧愿看貓也不愿意和我說話？
I realize how badly I need a piece of my mother. A scrap, a sound, a smell—something.
我強烈地想要一些關于媽媽的東西一個碎片、聲音、味道，關于她的任何東西都行。
One more stop, I say to Ike.
再停一下，我對兒子說。
