媽媽太老了，不過頭發沒有全白，臉上也沒有出現幾顆老人斑，只是腰背微駝。纖瘦的身體比30年前大約縮了一頭。她的兩只手，似乎只剩下幾條青筋和一把骨頭，手指也彎曲了，好像折彎而沒有斷的樹枝。媽媽有時望著自己的手，自嘲地說：“這哪是手指頭啊，簡直是雞爪子……”每次我聽到媽媽這種含有辛酸的話，就心疼不已。
Mother is a bit stooped with age, but her hair is only partially gray and her face has few old age speckles. Her small and thin stature, however, is shorter than thirty years ago by a head. And nothing seems to remain of her two hands but a few blue veins and bones. The fingers looked quite out of shape like broken twigs still hanging on to trees. Sometimes, looking at her own hands, she will say in self-ridicule, “How can I still call them my fingers? They’re chicken claws …” At this, my heart invariably aches.

我還記得小的時候，媽媽怎樣用一雙細嫩的手為我洗頭，洗身，洗腳。她的手輕輕摸撫著我的皮膚，好愜意，好溫柔喲！
When I was a child, I remember, mother used to wash my hair, my body and my feet with her delicate soft hands. As her hands ran over me gently, what a feeling of comfort and warmth came over me!

我還記得上學時，有一次老師讓我在一個兒童劇里扮演松鼠的角色。可服裝要自己解決，我急得不知如何是好。媽媽安慰我：“你放心好了！我給你做……”媽媽買來一塊灰絨布，剪裁、縫紉。第三天清早，我醒來時，發現媽媽依然坐在縫紉機前，她微微一笑，拿起一件帶大尾巴的松鼠式戲裝讓我看。試了一下，好極了。那時，我根本沒有想過：媽媽為了讓自己的兒子高興，連夜不睡，辛勞了幾天。
Once, when I was a schoolboy, my teacher wanted me to play the part of a squirrel in a children's play. I worried very much about the stage costume that, according to the teacher, had to be provided by myself. Mother set my heart at ease by saying, “Don't worry! I'll make one for you all right …” Thereupon, she bought a piece of gray cotton flannel and started cutting it out and sewing. On the early morning of the third day, when I woke up, I was surprised to find her still sitting at the sewing machine. She smilingly showed me the stage costume for a squirrel with a bushy tail. I tried it on. It was perfect. At that time, nevertheless, little did I ponder about mother having spent quite a few sleepless nights toiling for her son's sake.

稍長，我喜歡伏在媽媽身邊，看她在布頭上縫繡彩色花條，她那么專注，那么細心，縫了拆，拆了縫，稍有欠妥的地方，一定返工。后來，我看到布頭上綻開了鮮花，長出了綠葉，飛來了小鳥，似乎還能聞到花草的清香，聽到鳥兒啼鳴。這是媽媽為我縫制的枕頭套。我喜愛極了。我睡在這個枕頭上，感受到媽媽的手愛撫著我的臉，溫暖著我的心，連夜里的夢也不太苦澀了。
When I was older, I would nestle y mother's side and watch her embroidering brilliant flowers on a piece of cloth. She worked attentively and meticulously, unstitching what she had sewn or re-sewing what she had unstitched, always doing all over again whatever she considered inadequate. When fresh flowers, green leaves and flying birds eventually appeared on the cloth, I seemed to smell the faint scent of flowers and plants and hear the tweeting of birds. Mother had made an embroidered pillowcase for me. I was overjoyed. When I lay with my head pillowed on it, I felt as if her hand were fondly caressing my face and warming my heart, and I were no longer disturbed by bad dreams.

媽媽手中產生的每件東西，都精致，都漂亮。她總是精益求精。
Everything that mother makes by hand is delicate and nice-looking, and she keeps trying to do better.

“文革”期間，五七干校的軍宣隊禁止我們外國文學工作者閱讀中外文學作品，我便利用這個機會學習縫紉。這時我才感念媽媽幾十年來為我和哥哥們縫制衣服付出了我少精力與心血。
During the so-called “Cultural Revolution”, when I was sent to a farm school, I, like all other scholars in the field of foreign literature, was denied access to foreign literary books. So I took the opportunity to learn sewing instead. Only then did I fully realize how for scores of years mother had toiled away at making clothes for my elder brothers and me.

媽媽的手是什么時候變得粗糙了呢？媽媽老了，她的手已經拿不住針線，也不能做飯了，甚至走路時也要手扶墻壁。墻壁上留下被她的手磨損的痕跡。
When did her hands start to become so rough? She is old. Her hands are now too enfeebled to even needlework or cooking. When she walks, she has to over along with a groping hand on the wall for support. Consequently, the wall now bears traces of the wear and tear of the continual touching of her hand.

前幾年，媽媽90歲生日，我決定親手給她做一套便服衣褲。自認為這是兒子最好的一件禮物，她一定會高興。
Several years ago, to celebrate her 90th birthday, I decided to make her by myself a suit of clothes for everyday wear, consisting of a short coat and a pair of trousers, thinking that it would be the best gift possible from her son and that it would surely delight her much.

那天，媽媽接過我縫制的衣服，臉上閃著光亮，眼睛在微笑。那天，我滿懷幸福地睡了。
As she received the clothes on her birthday, her face brightened up with smiles. That night, I had blissful hours of sleep.

半夜醒來，我發現了一條燈光從媽媽的門縫里泄出來。是媽媽沒有睡？是媽媽忘了熄燈？我下床走向門縫，往她的屋里觀望。她正坐在床上，圍著被，戴著老花鏡，手中拿著我縫制的衣褲，在細細地觀看。她慢慢地摸來一把小剪子。她要干什么？我屏住呼吸。天哪！原來……原來她用顫顫抖抖的手開始拆卸我為她特意縫制的新衣服。我的心頓時涼了！媽媽，這是您60歲的兒子親手給您縫制的衣服呀！為什么不穿，反而拆成片呢？
Around midnight, I woke up to find lamplight coming in through the crack of her door. I wondered if she was staying up late or had gone to bed forgetting to put out the lamplight. I got out of bed and peeping into her room through the crack, I saw her sitting on the bed with a quilt draped over her shoulders. With a pair of presbyopic glasses on, she was holding in her hands the suit of clothes I had made and examining it closely. Then she slowly fished out from somewhere a pair of small scissors. What was she up to? I held my breath. Good Heavens! So she was going to unstitch with her trembling hands the new clothes I had specially made for her. My heart sank. O mother, that was the suit your 60-year-old son had made for you1 why were you going to unstitch it rather than wear it?

過了幾天，我實在憋不住了，才問媽媽。媽媽盯著我的眼睛，過了半晌，開口說：“你縫的不合格啊！線——扎得不直、不勻，有些粗糙……干活兒可不能這樣！”她把衣褲都拆了，想背著我重縫起來，可是手不聽使喚，縫不成了，媽媽看著自己那雙哆哆嗦嗦的枯手，嘆了一口氣。
Several days later, I couldn’t hold back the question in my mind any more. She stared into my eyes for quite a while and then said, “Your needlework isn’t up to standard. The stitches are untidy and uneven. The whole thing is crude … That’s not the way to go about your work.” She hand the whole suit unstitched and wanted to re-sew it behind my back, but she just couldn’t make it, her fingers being all thumbs with age. Looking at her tremulous wizened hand, she sighed.

媽媽勞動一生，我回想了一下，她無論干什么事，的確從不曾讓人有些許挑剔。如今，她不能勞動了，可是對兒子的勞動成果，也決不放松一針一線。
Mother has been diligent with her hands all her life. She always saw to it that she was faultless in whatever she did. Now she is too old to work, but she is very strict with my performance.

我望著媽媽的雙手，心想：媽媽教給我的，豈只是不應該縫制不合格的衣服？！
The sight of mother's hands always plunges me into deep thought: Her teaching goes far beyond the making of good clothes.