英语沙龙：浣熊的夏天（在线收听）

If I'd had my way，the story would have ended that day where it began－－on the sixth hole at Stony Brook．

“What was that bawling？”my wife，Shirley，asked，in－terrupting me in mid－swing．Without another word she marched into a mucky undergrowth and re－emerged carrying something alive．

“Rrrit，rrit，rrit，”it screamed．

“It's an orphaned raccoon，”she said，gently stroking a mud－matted ball of gray fur．

“Its mother is probably ten yards away，has rabies and is about to attack，”I scolded．

“No，it's alone and starving－－that's why the little thing is out of its nest．Here，take it，”she ordered．“I think there' s another baby over there．”

In a minute she returned with a squalling bookend－－just as mud－encrusted and emaciated as the first．She wrapped the two complaining ingrates in her sweater．I knew that look．We were going to have two more mouths to feed．

“Just remember，”I declared，“they're your bundles to look after．”But of all the family proclamations I have made over the years，none was wider of the mark．

When，like Shirley and me，you have four children，you don' t think much about empty nests．You don't think the noisy，exuberant procession of kids and their friends will ever end．But the bedrooms will someday empty，the hot bath water will miraculously return，and the sounds that make a family will echo only in the scrapbook of your mind．

Shirley and I had gone through the parting ritual with Laraine and Steve and Christopher．Now there was only Daniel，who was chafing to trade his room at home for a pad at Penn State．So I was looking forward to my share of a little peace and quiet－－not raccoons．

“What do you feed baby raccoons？”I asked the game protector over the phone the next morning．We had cleaned them up，made them a bed in a box of rags，added a ticking clock in the hope it would calm them，found old baby bottles in the basement，fed them warm milk and got them to sleep，all without floorwalking the first night．

However，they revived and began their machine－gun chant shortly after Shirley had run out the door，heading for classes．In anticipation of a soon－to－be empty nest，she had gone back to college to get a master's degree so she could teach．

Meanwhile，I had my own work to do－－various publishing projects that I handle from home．As the only child remaining with us，Daniel was m y potential raccoon－relief man．Or so I hoped．

“Whose bright idea was this？”he asked with the tart tongue of a teenager．

“Your mother thought you needed something more to earn your allowance，”I cracked．“Will you heat some milk for them？”

“Sorry，I'm late for school，”he called over his shoulder．He and I were at that awkward testing stage，somewhere between my flagging authority and his rush for independence．

The major problem with trying to feed the raccoons was one of flow．Milk was flowing out of the bottle too fast and through the kits the same way．

“Thinner milk and less corn syrup，”the wildlife man suggested，adding that he would send along a brochure for raising them．“The object，”he coached，“is to take care of them until they can go back to the woods and take care of themselves．”

“I'll do anything I can to make that happen，”I assured him．“They're about eight ounces each”－－I had weighed them on my postage scale．“They'll be old enough to be on their own in a couple more weeks，right？”

“Not quite，”he said．“Come fall，if all goes well，they'll be ready．”I'll strangle them before then，I said under my breath．I prepared a new formula and tried it on one．The kit coughed and sputtered like a clogged carbureter．The hole in the nipple was too big．Maybe I could feed them better with a doll's bottle，I concluded，and set out to find one．At a toy store，I found some miniature bottles，one of which was attached to a specially plumbed doll named Betsy Wetsy．“My Betsys are wetsy enough，”I told the clerk－－declining doll and diapers，but taking the bottle．Back home，I tried feeding the raccoons again．Miracle of miracles，they sucked contentedly and fell asleep．（Only twelve more weeks to September，I counted down．）During the next month and a half I functioned faithfully as day－care nanny for Bonnie and Clyde，named for their bandit－like masks．The kits apparently considered me their mother．When I held them at feeding time，they still spoke in the same scratchy voice，but now it was a contented hum．The only time they may have perceived me to be an impostor came when they climbed on my shoulders，parted my hair and pawed in vain for a nipple．Before long the kits graduated to cereal and bananas．When they became more active，our backyard birdbath became an instant attraction．Bonnie，the extrovert of the two，ladled the water worshipfully with her paws like a priest conducting a baptism．Clyde followed suit，but cautiously，as if the water might be combustible．Next Bonnie discovered the joy of food and water together，and thereafter every morsel had to be dipped before being eaten．

By July the kits weighed about three pounds．I built a screened－in cage and moved them outdoors．When they had adjusted well to their new quarters，Daniel suggested we free them to explore the woods and forage for food．“I don't want them to get lost or hurt out there，”I said，sounding more like a mother hen than a surrogate father raccoon．“They should get used to being on their own，”Daniel insisted．We left their door ajar so they could wander during the day．At night，we called them home by banging together their food bowls．They came out of the woods at a gallop．Still，I was afraid we might be rushing their initiation to the wild．One windy afternoon while Daniel and I were playing catch in the backyard，I spotted Bonnie，twenty feet off the ground，precariously tightrope－walking the bouncing branches of a mulberry tree．She had eaten her fill of berries and was trying to get down，or so I thought．“Be careful，babe，”I called，running to the tree．“Quick，Dan，get a ladder．”“Let her go，”he said calmly．“She's on an adventure．Don' t spoil her fun．”And he was on the money．When I returned later，she was snoozing serenely in the mulberry' s cradling arms．However，the raccoons did get into trouble one night when they let themselves out of their cage with those dexterous forepaws．Shirley and I were awakened at ２A．M．by a horrendous scream．“What was that？”I asked，bolting upright．“The raccoons？”she wondered．“They' re in trouble．”Tossing off the covers，I grabbed a flashlight and ran outside in my skivvies．As I came around the south side of the house，I heard something rattle the eaves an d jump into the maple tree．Next，I got jumped．First by Bonnie，landing on my shoulder，then by her brother，shinnying up my leg．Circling my neck，they jabbered their excitement：“Rrrrit，rrrit，rrrit．”“It's okay，I've got ya，you' re safe，”I said，cuddling them in my arms．Apparently a wild raccoon，defending its territory，had attacked Clyde．He had a bloody shoulder that didn't appear serious；Bonnie was fine．

July gave way to August，and August to September．Soon the days were getting shorter，and the raccoons were six－pound butterballs．I was fascinated by their creativity and intelligence．One evening after I banged their food bowls together，there was no reply．W hen I reported anxiously at the breakfast table that they hadn't come in the night before，Daniel laughed at my concern．“Now we'll see if you're as good a teacher as a mother raccoon．”“I already know the answer，”I said．“By the way，what time did you get in last night？”“About midnight，”he answered．“Your eyes say later．”“I'm not a baby anymore，”he shot back．Outside，I beckoned the raccoons again，and this time they reported：effervescent Bonnie in a flat－out sprint，Clyde in a tagalong amble．

Near the end of September they were missing a week，and I suggested to Shirley that they were probably gone for good．“You know it's a mistake trying to hold on to anything that no longer needs you，”she counseled．“Who's holding on？”I protested．But when I continued scanning the woods，hoping to catch sight of them，I knew she was right．Reluctantly，I dismantled their pen，stored their bowls and put them out of my mind．Or tried to．But they had got more of a hold on my heart than I ever thought possible．What I had considered a nuisance had，in fact，been a gift；what I had labeled a burden，a blessing．Why is it，I asked myself，that with so many people and things，we only appreciate them fully after they' re gone？

One Saturday near the end of October，Shirley，Daniel and I were in the backyard raking leaves when I spotted a ringed tail beyond the gate that opens to the woods．“Look，Shirley，”I whispered．And though I had no idea if it was one of ours，I called，“Bonnie．．．Clyde．”The magnificently marked animal rose on its hind legs and looked us over inquisitively．For a frozen moment，we faced off，statue like．Then I called again，and the animal moved in our direction．It was Bonnie，and we went to meet her．Kneeling，I held out my hand，which she licked while I rubbed her neck．She purred her most satisfied rrrit，rrrit，rrrit．“Go get a banana for her，”I suggested to Daniel．“No，it's time she made it on her own，”he replied firmly．“She's a big girl now．Don't do anything for her that she can do for herself．”I looked at Shirley and winked．Tall，broad－shouldered Daniel wasn't talking raccoons．He was talking parents．The object is to take care of them until they can take care of themselves，a haunting voice echoed．It was time to let go．After rubbing Bonnie' s neck one last time，I stepped back．She sensed my release and bounded off joyfully in the direction from which she had come．“Have a good life，”I called after her．Then she dipped behind a tree and was gone．

浣熊的夏天

如果当初照我说的办，那天这个故事就会在原来开始的地方---石溪高尔夫球场第６洞宣告结束了。

我正要挥杆击球时，我妻子雪莉问我：“那是什么叫声？”接着二话没说，她跑进一处湿污的矮树丛，再出来时手里抱着个活东西。

“吱，吱，吱，”那小东西尖叫着。

“是个浣熊孤儿，”雪莉边说边轻柔地抚摸着一团粘着泥的灰毛球。

我厉声说道，“它妈妈可能就在１０码远，也许有狂犬病，随时会咬你。”

“不对，它孤零零的，而且在挨饿，所以它才离了窝。”她吩咐说，“嘿，拿着。我想那边还有一只。”

不一会儿，雪莉抱着大声尖叫像个书挡似的小浣熊回来，跟头一只一样一身泥浆硬壳而且瘦弱不堪。她把两只不领情、发出怨声的浣熊裹在绒衣里。我了解她脸上的表情。我们家又添了两张嗷嗷待哺的嘴。

我严肃地说：“照看它们可是你的职责。”不过这些年来我类似的郑重声明从没兑现过。

如果你像我跟雪莉一样，有４个孩子，你就不大会想到孩子们长大离家后的空巢，也不会想到家里有一天不再有熙熙攘攘、活蹦乱跳的几个孩子和他们的朋友。可是卧室终究会空闲，热洗澡水将奇迹般地又来到你身旁，温馨的天伦之乐只有在记忆中回荡。

我和雪莉已经有过跟女儿莱赖恩、儿子史蒂夫和克里斯托弗告别的经历。现在只剩下丹尼尔，不过他也迫不及待地要住进宾夕法尼亚州立大学的宿舍。所以我在期待着我应享有的一点宁静，而不是浣熊。

第二天早上我打电话给从事动物保护工作的人，问该给幼小浣熊喂什么。我和雪莉把它们洗干净，在一盒布头里做了个床，还放了个嘀嗒作响的钟，希望它能使它们平静，从地下室找出旧奶瓶，喂它们温牛奶。它们总算睡着了。头一个晚上没有像哄婴儿似地抱着它们走来走去。

可是雪莉走出门去上课不久，两个小家伙就活了起来，开始像机关枪似地吟叫。雪莉考虑到家里不久就将变成空巢，又回大学攻读硕士学位，为的是以后可以教书。

可是我也有自己的工作要干，在家里处理各种出版事务。作为惟一剩下的孩子，丹尼尔是帮助我解脱抚养浣熊任务的人。至少我是这么盘算的。

“这是谁的好主意？”丹尼尔用未成年人尖酸刻薄的口吻问道。

“你妈妈认为你需要干更多的事才能得到你的零花钱，”我俏皮地回答他。“你给它们热点儿奶好吗？”

“抱歉，我上学都晚了。”他头也没回就出了门。我和丹尼尔正经受着窘迫的父子关系考验阶段---我的权威日益削弱，而他却急于独立生活。

“流速”成为喂养浣熊的主要问题。牛奶流出奶瓶和从浣熊体内排出的速度都太快。

野生动物工作人员建议说：“喂稀点儿的奶，少喝玉米糊。”还说要寄一本有关喂养浣熊的小册子给我。他叮嘱说：“目的是照顾好它们，直到它们能够回到树林里去独立生活。”

我向他保证说：“我会竭尽全力让它们回归自然。它们已经有８盎司重了。”我曾用邮件秤秤过。“再过几个星期它们就能独立生活了，是吗？”

他说：“不完全这样。到了秋天，如果一切正常，那就差不多了。”我压低嗓门说，到那之前我会把它们掐死的。我准备了新的食谱，先喂一只熊。那幼熊像堵塞的化油器那样，又咳嗽又飞溅吐沫。原来是奶瓶的嘴太大了。我得出结论，也许用玩具娃娃的奶瓶更好些。我就出门去找。在一家玩具店发现一些小奶瓶。其中一个挂在装有特殊管道取名“尿湿贝齐”的娃娃身上。我告诉店员，“我那俩娃娃已经够湿的了。”我没要娃娃和尿布，只买了奶瓶。回家以后我又试着给浣熊喂奶。真是奇迹，它们满意地吮奶，然后就睡着了。我倒计着时间，到９月只有１２个星期了。以后的一个半月里，我忠实地做着邦妮和克莱德的日间保姆。之所以用著名大盗的名字，因为它们的脸像他们。两个小家伙显然把我看作是它们的妈妈。我抱着它们喂奶时，那尖声的吟叫，现在已经变成心满意足的哼哼了。惟一发现我不是它们的妈妈的时候，是它们爬上我的肩膀，用爪子扒开头发却找不到奶头。没多久两只幼熊可以吃麦片粥和香蕉了。等到它们更喜欢活动时，我们家后院的鸟浴池立即吸引了它们的注意。性格外向的邦妮尊崇地用爪子舀水，像是牧师主持洗礼仪式。克莱德也照着这个样子学，不过是小心翼翼地，似乎生怕水会引起燃烧。后来邦妮发现食物和水一起享用的欢乐，从此每吃一口之前先沾沾水。

到了７月小浣熊体重大约３磅了。我做了个带网的笼子，把它们搬到屋外。它们适应了新住处以后，丹尼尔建议放它们出去到林子里找吃的。我说：“我不想让它们迷路或受到伤害。”听上去我更像母亲，而不是浣熊的代理父亲。丹尼尔坚持说道：“它们应该习惯独立生活。”我们让笼子门半开着，这样白天它们可以出来逛逛。晚上我们敲响食碗，小熊飞快地从林子里窜出来。可我还是担心我们在过急地要它们适应野外生活。一个刮风天的下午，我跟丹尼尔在后花园练接棒球。我发现邦妮离地２０英尺，小心谨慎地在上下晃动的桑树树枝上像走钢丝那样地往下走。她吃饱了浆果，正想下来。至少我是这么想的。“留神，孩子。”我叫着并朝桑树跑去。“快，丹尼尔，拿梯子。”“甭管她，”他平静地说。“她在尝试冒险的乐趣。别打搅她。”丹尼尔说得一点没错。等我稍后回来时，邦妮正安详地躺在催眠的桑树树枝上。可是，有一天晚上小浣熊们真的遇上了麻烦。它们借助两只灵巧的前爪自己溜出了笼子。我和雪莉半夜两点给一声可怕的尖叫惊醒了。“那是什么？”我猛地一下坐直了。“是浣熊吗？”雪莉没把握地问道。“它们碰到麻烦了。”我掀开被子，抄起电筒，穿着短袖内衣跑了出去。我绕到了房子南侧，听到有什么使屋檐咯咯作响，然后又跳上枫树。接着有东西跳到我身上。先是邦妮跳到我肩膀上，接着是她弟弟顺着我的腿往上爬。围着我脖子，激动得使劲吱吱叫。“没事了，有我在，没有危险了。”我双臂搂着两只浣熊。显然有只野生浣熊为了保卫自己的地盘，向克莱德发动了进攻。它肩膀上流着血，但不严重；邦妮安然无恙。

７月、８月相继过去，到了９月。白天越来越短，两只浣熊已经是６磅重的小胖子了。它们的创造力和智慧令我吃惊。一天晚上，我敲打食碗以后，没有任何动静。第二天吃早餐时，我在餐桌上焦急地告诉雪莉和丹尼尔说昨天晚上它们没有回来。丹尼尔对我的关切很不以为然地取笑道：“你是个称职的老师，这回我们倒要看看你是否也是个称职的浣熊妈妈。”“我已经知道答案了，”我说。“对了，昨天晚上你什么时候回家的？”“差不多半夜了，”丹尼尔回答说。“可你的眼睛却告诉我比半夜还晚。”“我已经不是婴儿了，”他反驳道。我出屋再次诱使浣熊回来，这回有反应了。兴奋的邦妮全速奔跑过来，克莱德慢慢追随在后。

９月底它们有一个星期没露面。我对雪莉说这回可能就一去不复返了。她劝我说，“你要知道，一旦它们不需要你时，还硬要留它们就错了。”“谁留了？”我不服地反驳道。可是等我继续在树林里找，希望能看见它们的时候，我意识到雪莉说对了。我不情愿地拆了它们的窝，存放了食碗，不再把那两只小熊挂在心上了，或者说我试图这么做。但是它们在我心中的地位远比我想像的重要。我曾经认为是恼人的动物，事实上成了一件礼物；我曾当作是累赘的东西，却成了一种福分。我自问道，世上有那么多人和物，为什么只有当失去他们的时候才能充分理解他们的重要呢？

快到１０月底的一个星期六，我们三人正在后花园耙树叶，我发现通往树林的门外边有个带圈的尾巴。“雪莉，瞧。”我轻声说道。虽然我没把握是不是我们抚养的两只浣熊中的一个，我还是叫出声来，“邦妮……克莱德。”那有着显眼条纹的动物伸直后腿，好奇地瞧着我们。有片刻谁也没动弹。我们愣在那儿，盯着它看。我再次叫了起来，那动物朝我们走来。没错是邦妮，我们往前走去欢迎它。我跪下，伸出手，摸她脖子，她舔我的手。邦妮呼噜呼噜发出心满意足的声音。“去给她拿根香蕉来，”我给丹尼尔出主意说。“不，已经是她自己独立生活的时候了，”丹尼尔坚定地回答。“她已经是个大姑娘了。不要替她做她自己能做的事。”我瞧着雪莉，眨了眨眼。肩宽体高的丹尼尔不是在说浣熊，而是在议论父母。“目的是照顾好它们，直到它们能够独立生活”，这耐人寻味的话萦绕在我心头。到了让孩子自己去闯的时候了。我最后又摸了摸邦妮的脖子，身子往后退去。她意识到我是让她走开，就高兴地朝来的方向蹦跳而去。我在她身后嚷道，“祝你生活幸福。”邦妮窜到树后就消失了。